Master Wolf

by Joanna Chambers

  “Perhaps you can’t feel it because you’re not well,” Drew finally managed.

  Lindsay sighed. “I’m not well,” he agreed, “But that’s not it. The Wolfsbane is eradicating the bond between my wolf and me, and by association, my bonds with you and Duncan.” He smiled, almost sweetly. “I realised a long time ago, that until my mind could resist Duncan’s influence I would never be free of him. Now, finally, I will be able to do that. I’m almost ready for him, Drew.”

  Drew would have laughed if it wasn’t so tragic. Duncan MacCormaic was a mighty tree of a man, with shoulders like a set of barn doors and arms like a blacksmith. The thought of Lindsay facing him in his present state would have been laughable if it wasn’t so horrifying.

  “Lindsay—” he began, then found he couldn’t go on. Because wouldn’t Drew have felt exactly the same way in Lindsay’s shoes? “What are you going to do?” he demanded instead. “Fight him?”

  Lindsay grinned suddenly, and somehow that flash of impudence—a glimpse of the old irrepressible Lindsay—made Drew’s whole chest seize up like a blocked dam.

  “If need be,” Lindsay said with an insouciant shrug. “The truth is, I’d rather die trying to free myself of him than live another half-century like this, always looking over my shoulder, wondering when he’ll appear again and try to drag me back to that filthy dungeon.”

  “But you can’t win against him,” Drew whispered.

  “Why not?” Lindsay said. “Besides—”

  He broke off.

  “Besides what?” Drew said.

  For a brief moment, Lindsay met his eyes. Then he said softly. “Besides… it’s none of your concern, Drew. You made it clear a long time ago you didn’t want to be part of my life.”

  He turned from Drew and walked unsteadily to the dressing table, sitting himself down in front of the myriad bottles and jars.

  “Go and eat,” he said gently, without looking at Drew. “I prefer to do this in private.”

  Chapter Nine

  When Drew got back to Rankeillor Street, it was to find Marguerite up and dressed and pacing the parlour. She exuded an angry energy that was entirely at odds with her sunny yellow-and-white striped gown and frivolous primrose-trimmed bonnet.

  “Where have you been?” she snapped, only to immediately raise a peremptory hand and add swiftly, “Do not answer that. We have an appointment at the City Chambers in half an hour with the bureaucrat who is in charge of the skeleton and I would rather not be later than we can help. Go and change your clothes. You look ridiculous!”

  Drew glanced down at his borrowed too-tight coat and pantaloons. His cheeks warmed. “They’re not mine,” he said. “They’re Lindsay’s.”

  “Obviously,” Marguerite bit out, her gaze withering. “Now, go. We leave in five minutes.”

  She really could be quite high in the instep.

  Drew obediently turned on his heel and left the parlour, then took the hallway stairs to his bedchamber two at a time. As soon as he was inside, he tore off his borrowed clothing and yanked on the freshly pressed—and far more sober—suit that had already been laid out for him. He spent a few precious moments taming his hair with some pomade, then smoothed a rueful hand over his bristly chin and decided—since his blond scruff wasn’t too noticeable—not to do anything about it. Moments later, he was on his way back downstairs where Marguerite was waiting.

  She canted her head to one side, assessing him, lips pressed together. She had plainly simmered down now. “You will have to do, I suppose,” she said at last. “Come on.”

  The carriage was waiting outside.

  “We’re not walking?” Drew asked, surprised. It wasn’t far at all, and with all the traffic the carriage would probably be slower.

  Finally, she quirked a smile at him. “Madame Giordano—sorry, Madame Niven now—does not walk. She would rather die than besmirch any slippers as pretty as these ones.” Hitching up her gown, she offered him a glimpse of primrose-yellow satin slippers, decorated with ivory ribbons.

  “I see your dilemma,” Drew murmured. “Of course we will take the carriage, my dear. Whatever you wish.”

  She laughed then, amused. “I see you have been practising your role as my devoted slave.”

  “It’s not such a difficult part to play—I simply agree with you on everything, do I not?”

  She grinned. “Indeed.”

  “In which case, no acting is required,” he said, offering his arm. “I wouldn’t dream of contradicting you.”

  She raised a brow at his effrontery, then tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and said conversationally, “Very wise.”

  It was only once they were in the carriage that it occurred to him.

  “When did you make this appointment?” he asked, frowning. “I only agreed to come the day before we left London.”

  “If you had not come, I would have had to find someone else,” she admitted. “But I’m glad you decided to do the right thing. Now let me tell you how we’re going to play this.”

  James Muir—the bureaucrat—turned out to be rather different than Drew was expecting. Instead of the middle-aged town official he had pictured in his mind, he was presented with an energetic young man who appeared to be in his early-to-middle twenties. Short in stature and stocky in build, he fairly bounced on his heels, as Drew introduced himself and Marguerite.

  “It’s good to meet you, Mr. Niven,” he said, pumping Drew’s hand with both of his own, then turned to Marguerite, his eyes glinting with appreciation. “And Mrs. Niven of course. Enchanté, madame.” He bowed to her, and what he lacked in elegance he more than made up for in enthusiasm, not to mention surprising flexibility—his forehead was very near brushing his knee.

  “Monsieur Muir,” Marguerite murmured when he straightened. “C’est un plaisir—excuse me, I forget my English. It is a great pleasure to meet you.” She was playing up her normal faint French accent to great effect, and when she treated Muir to a look that Drew could only describe as smouldering, the man visibly swallowed.

  Drew bit his lip to hide his smile, although in truth he could have danced a sailor’s hornpipe naked without fear of drawing Muir’s attention from Marguerite. The man was smitten.

  “The pleasure,” Muir breathed, “is all mine, madame.”

  Drew allowed several moments to pass before he cleared his throat and mildly interjected, “Well, now that the introductions have been performed, would you be kind enough to show my wife and me this, ah, exhibit of yours?”

  Muir flushed, quickly averting his gaze from Marguerite to meet Drew’s. “Yes, of course, Mr. Nicol. Please, follow me. It is in a room next to my own office—just a little further down the corridor.”

  He set off and they fell into step behind him, Drew offering his arm to Marguerite who laid her hand there and said breathlessly, “I ’ope I do not swoon, mon amour. Do you think it will be terrifying?”

  Drew chuckled indulgently. “Are you having second thoughts, my dear?” Muir had his back to them so Drew couldn’t see his face, but he could tell from the tension in the man’s shoulders that he was listening to them.

  “I do not know,” Marguerite said in a hushed, fretful tone, just loud enough for Muir to hear. “Per’aps. I do not want to be a coward, but I confess, I am a little afraid. Do you think me a pathetic creature?” She looked up at him with limpid eyes and he had to bite his cheek, he wanted to laugh so badly. This woman, so bloodthirsty in battle, playing the timid rabbit.

  Muir had paused outside one of the doors, and as he waited for them to reach his side, he sent Drew a brief disapproving look before turning to Marguerite and saying staunchly, “Madame, your feminine sensibilities do you much credit. No one would think any the less of you if you decided not to step inside this room. Indeed, if I may speak plainly, it would relieve my own mind if you decided not to do so. This is not, I think, a sight for feminine eyes.”

  “You are very kind, Monsieur Muir,” Marguerite breathed, her voice husky
with promise. “But I ’ave not come all this way to wait outside the door. It is reassuring though, to know you will understand if I—well, if I am a little overcome.”

  “Of course, madame,” Muir assured her fervently. “The moment you need to leave, just say the word.”

  “Merci,” she whispered, dark eyes wide with trepidation. Muir was practically a puddle on the floor.

  He drew out a ring of keys, undoing two separate locks before turning to look gravely at Marguerite again. “Are you ready?” he asked gently.

  “Of course we are,” Drew said with brisk impatience, while Marguerite nodded and set her shoulders with apparent determination.

  “Very well, follow me.”

  Muir opened the door slowly and carefully, revealing a small, crowded room, littered with boxes and chests and with one very large item in the middle of it—a table draped in a heavy grey cloth, the shape beneath it suggesting a human figure. For the first time since they’d arrived, Drew felt a genuine sense of unease. There was something—someone—under that cloth he’d never thought to see again. Or the remains of someone at least. A ruined man. One who had tried his best to kill Drew all those years ago.

  Beside him, Marguerite let out a little whimper and clung to his arm, reminding him of the part he was to play. In turn, Drew urged her forward, his hand firm on her waist. “Come on, my dear,” he said his voice coaxing but impatient. “You did insist on coming with me today, did you not?”

  “All right, all right,” she said, letting some petulance creep into her tone. “But that’s because I ’ate it when you leave me alone at ’ome! You know that.”

  Drew glanced at Muir and rolled his eyes, then said in a more indulgent tone. “I know, my darling. But now that we are here, you understand that I want to have a proper look, don’t you? I can hardly acquire this exhibit without examining at it properly.”

  She gazed at him with huge, accusing eyes before whispering tragically, “Oui, je comprends.”

  “Good girl,” Drew said approvingly, patting her hand. “You can stand behind me if you prefer.” He noticed Muir surreptitiously watching them as Drew firmly disengaged Marguerite’s clinging fingers from his arm and stepped away from her to approach the table.

  “Come on then, Muir,” Drew said, injecting a note of eager impatience into his voice. “Let’s see it.”

  “But your wife…” Muir began hesitantly.

  “My wife will be perfectly all right,” Drew said firmly. “Please proceed.”

  Muir frowned unhappily but he pressed his lips together and reached for an edge of the cloth. Then, with a sweeping gesture, he pulled it off and it lifted like a sail caught by the wind, a brief curving billow before it dropped away, revealing what lay beneath.

  At first all Drew saw was an old pile of bones.

  They were brown, like fallen branches, damp and rotting. Drew stared, trying to make sense of what he was seeing, and then all at once he remembered what had happened to Cruikshank that night.

  His memory was patchy—he’d already been dazed from a beating by the time Cruikshank transformed—but there were some pictures that had stuck in his memory. The awful, snarling, wrecked thing that Cruikshank had turned into. A half-shifted monster, with a lopsided snout and a gruesome collection of ramshackle fangs. His eyes—his human eyes—bulging and panicked in that mangled canine skull.

  Within minutes of his partial shift, Cruikshank had been dead. Within hours his body had been lying at the bottom of the Nor’loch, wrapped in a Turkish carpet.

  Until now.

  “What do you think?” Muir asked. “Have you ever seen anything like it before?”

  “No, never,” Drew echoed weakly. In his mind’s eye, he saw Cruikshank launching himself forward, jaws snapping wildly, drool running down the sides of his obscenely stretched lips.

  “My God!” Marguerite cried out behind them. “What is it? It’s ’orrible!”

  Drew heard Muir going to her, murmuring words of explanation. He kept his own eyes fixed on those gruesome remains.

  Again, his mind returned to the night of Cruikshank’s death—to Lindsay smashing Cruikshank’s misshapen skull against the polished wooden desk, over and over. Blood and brain spraying out from the violence of the attack.

  That was the moment Drew had known Lindsay was truly other. Even before the silver collar holding Lindsay’s beast trapped had been broken and Lindsay’s wolf had emerged in a single astonishing instant.

  Behind Drew, Muir said, “Madame Niven needs to sit down. I shall take her into my office if that’s all right?”

  Drew glanced over his shoulder. Marguerite was clinging to the young man’s arm. He had learned on the way over here that this was a favourite ruse used by Marguerite and Francis. Splitting them up—and splitting the attention of their companion—provided a useful opportunity to snoop. That Muir’s office was next door was serendipitous.

  “I am feeling a little faint,” she said. “I am sure I will be better in a few minutes.”

  “Very well, my dear,” Drew said mildly. “I won’t be much longer—I just want to ask Mr Muir a few questions about the specimen.”

  “I will be back directly,” Muir promised and led Marguerite out of the room. True to his word, he returned a few minutes later.

  “Madame Niven is sitting quite comfortably,” he said. “And seems to be recovering.”

  “That’s good, thank you,” Drew said. He sent Muir a rueful look and added wryly, “My wife has rather delicate sensibilities, but she did insist upon coming today.”

  “Her sensibilities do her credit,” Muir said. “The fairer sex are not capable, as we men are, of calmly facing such sights. It is hardly surprising she became hysterical.”

  Drew resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Marguerite could wipe with the floor with this whelp without getting so much as a hair out of place, if he but knew it.

  “So,” Muir said, in a tone that indicated a change of topic. “What do you think of the specimen?”

  “It’s extraordinary,” Drew said honestly. Then less honestly, “At first I thought it must be a hoax—like one of those ridiculous sewn-together creatures you see in the travelling shows—but I’ve examined it quite carefully and it does appear to have been a genuine creature. The bones, the way they fit together, and the general uniformity of their condition seem to point clearly to that conclusion.”

  Muir nodded. “Yes, what you see before you is exactly what was found by the workmen who were draining the Nor’loch. The body had been kept intact—it had been rolled in a carpet before it was dropped in the water. Much of the fabric had deteriorated, of course, as had the flesh on the body. Nevertheless, there was enough of the carpet left to keep the bones together in a recognisable whole.”

  “It must have caused quite a stir when it was discovered?”

  “Yes, although we have been very selective as to who we have permitted to view it.”

  Drew raised a brow. “From which I infer that only those who have expressed a wish—and who have the means—to acquire it have been permitted to see it?”

  Muir smiled politely. “Once Mr. Begg—he is one of the Magistrates—realised this specimen could be sold for the benefit of the town, he was determined that steps be taken to protect its integrity. That ruled out any public display.”

  “Yes, I see,” Drew murmured. After a moment, he added, “And what do you mean to do now, Mr. Muir?”

  Muir met his gaze. “I’m not sure I follow.”

  Now it was Drew’s turn to smile. “You are forcing me to be blunt. I am asking whether you mean to put this item up for auction, or if you would be amenable to accepting an offer now. A serious one, I mean.”

  Muir spread his hands in an apologetic gesture. “I’m afraid it is not in my power to accept or even invite bids at this time. I have merely been appointed to safeguard the specimen and conduct the viewings. It will be for Mr. Begg—that is, the Magistrates—to determine the way forward.”

&nbs
p; Drew filed away his slip.

  “And when will that determination be made?” he asked.

  “There is one more interested party still to view the specimen,” Muir said. “He is on his way to Edinburgh and is expected the day after tomorrow. Once he has viewed it, I expect an announcement will be made quite quickly.”

  “And who are my rivals?”

  Muir gave a small smirk. “I’m afraid I cannot say.”

  Drew sighed. “You are very trying, Mr. Muir. You bring me here, show me the most fascinating item I’ve seen in many a long year and then tell me I must simply kick my heels for the foreseeable future?”

  “I can only apologise,” Muir replied smoothly, “But I trust you will not have to wait very long, Mr. Niven. And I hope you will understand that the Magistrates only take these steps in an effort to be even-handed—and of course, to ensure that the best price is achieved for the townspeople, who will be the beneficiaries of this exercise.”

  Drew was quite sure that was not the case. If there weren’t at least a handful of people—Muir included—planning on skimming a portion of the proceeds for themselves, he’d eat his own hat. But he smiled at Muir, hoping he exuded even a tenth of the easy charm that Lindsay seemed to be able to summon without the least effort.

  “May I be frank with you?” he asked.

  Muir’s expression did not so much as flicker. He nodded.

  “Acquiring this specimen is of the utmost importance to me and I would be very grateful if you would therefore keep me informed.”

  “Keep you informed?” Muir was frowning, but the slight knowing tilt of his lips told Drew he knew very well what he was getting at. “About what?”

  “Oh, anything that might be of interest. Who views the specimen, who shows interest. If any developments occur. I would be most perturbed if a private sale were to take place without my knowledge.”

  “That will not happen,” Muir said confidently.

  Drew shrugged. “I’m sure you’re right, but for the sake of argument, were such a thing to happen, I would like to know so that I would have the chance to make an offer of my own before any sale was finally settled.”