Playing With Fire

by Adrienne Woods et al.

  Her eyes softened as she looked down at him. It took all his willpower not to sigh with relief.

  “Would you bring me flowers every day? And read beside me in front of the fireplace?”

  “Indeed, I would.”

  Angelica smiled. “I want to believe you, Master Patrick. Maybe I shall give you a chance to prove yourself.”

  “To prove myself?”

  “Yes. I wish to start our courtship over. I wish it to be the way it should have been from the beginning, with picnics in the garden and walks by the pond, and tea with my mother. Do you think you could do that for me?”

  An icy chill of foreboding clawed its way up his spine, yet relief flooded his heart at the same time. This was his chance to start over with Angelica, to make her permanently his, but he feared this would come at a costly price.

  “My love, anything you wish. If it makes you happy, I am yours to command.”

  Chapter 7

  A chill wind blew through the trees as Patrick took his clothes off. With everything that had been happening around Ashford, he had not dared to run, but tonight’s storm would keep most folks indoors. The canopy swayed overhead as he stashed his clothes beneath a fallen log; his skin covered in gooseflesh.

  Although storms were not unusual at this time of the year, they were usually not this cold, or violent. This one came on so suddenly; the farmers had to rush to get their livestock to safety.

  Here, within the relative calmness of the forest, Patrick could hear the tempest raging above the treetops, and felt its icy fingers lick across his skin. Leaves and small sticks blew through the air, and all the animals of the forest had retreated to their burrows and dens.

  The snapping of bones and tearing of skin was drowned out by the howling wind blowing through the trees as Patrick changed.

  Heaving, he stood still for a moment, the wind ruffling his thick, dark fur. There was tension in this storm, setting his nerves on edge, and he growled, baring his teeth. A shudder ran down his back, urging him on. His powerful hind legs propelled him forward, and he ran.

  The wolf could never be denied; not for long, anyway. Patrick now set his wolf free, racing through the forest, embracing the ecstasy of the run. All Patrick’s senses were the wolf; the forest soil under his paws, the smell of the wet trees in his nose, the sound of the storm in his ears, the sight of the narrow trail in front of him.

  The heart that pounded forcefully in his chest was pure werewolf at that moment; the most fearsome creature in England. Patrick had the power, the speed, and the strength. He had it all.

  A sense of unease settled over him then, and he slowed his run. There was something on the wind. A smell? A sound? Patrick halted and lifted his nose.

  The wind blew in every direction, confusing him. The storm roared above the forest, giving the wind below no direct path. Ears pricked and nose held high, he stood for a long time, sensing the wind.

  Patrick could only explain it as the same feeling one had just before lightning struck. There was a tension in the air, making the fur on his body stand on end.

  Shivers of foreboding ran cold over his body, and he wondered how a storm could unsettle him such. Eventually, he turned and ran back to where he had left his clothes.

  “Have some breakfast before you leave, Patrick,” Lillian said.

  “I will, Mother. I have another two hours before I need to be in town.”

  Patrick and Edward waited for Lillian to leave the room again before they continued their conversation.

  “You know how it is, Father. The wolf sensed it. There was something wrong out there in the forest last night.”

  “Was it the same kind of beast that you saw before?”

  Patrick shook his head. “No, this was no being. This was something else altogether. It was more like … a feeling, on the wind. I shudder still to think about it.”

  “Son,” Edward sighed, “I believe you, but I worry why this is happening to you. Did you bring some evil spirit back with you from the war?”

  “What? No, I know of no such entities. Whatever this is, it belongs to Ashford. It has nothing to do with me.”

  “Then why is it only you that can sense it?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  Both looked up upon hearing noises from outside. Edward went to the window to look, and then quickly held up his hand so Patrick would not follow him.

  “What is it, Father?”

  “I am not sure, but I have a bad feeling. Your hunters are here, as well as half the town. Stay here. Let me talk to them.”

  “Why? They are my people. I can talk to them.”

  “Patrick,” Edward glowered at him, assuming his alpha, “trust me with this. I don’t know what is happening, but it will be better if I speak with them. You might want to get ready to leave.”

  Another shiver of foreboding shook Patrick’s body. He could sense it now; his father was right. He nodded, letting his father go.

  Hiding behind a wardrobe in the hall, with the kitchen door behind him, Patrick looked towards the front door, watching a servant, his mother and his father greet Dorien Lowell.

  “Lord Blakesley,” Dorien said, looking uncomfortable, “is your son here?”

  “Good morning, mayor. No, Patrick has already left. I thought he had duty this morning.”

  Dorien looked around at the men behind him. There was a hubbub of voices. “Yes. We hoped to find him at home still.”

  “May I ask what this is in connection with?” Edward asked.

  Dorien swallowed. “There was another killing last night. James Sender.”

  “Lord have mercy.”

  “There is something else,” Dorien continued. “There was a sighting of a werewolf in the forest last night.”

  “A werewolf?” Lillian’s shocked voice rang out as she clutched her husband’s arm.

  The voices behind Dorien grew louder.

  “Are you going out to hunt it?” Edward asked.

  “That is why we are here,” Dorien answered. “The man who saw the werewolf saw him change and recognised him as Patrick. We are here to arrest him for the murders of Abbott, Smythe and Sender.”

  The crowd now became rowdy, shouting and yelling.

  “Stop with the pleasantries.”

  “Arrest the father.”

  “Search the house.”

  “Let’s ride.”

  Dorien held up his hands to quieten them. “Edward, will you not tell us where Patrick is? It will be a bloody hunt if the men get their way.”

  “My son is no murderer,” Edward shouted out the door. To Dorien, he said, “I am sorry, Mayor Lowell. He has already ridden out, so I do not know where he is. He was going to work when he left. Maybe you should start looking in town.”

  “We will, Edward; thank you for your help.”

  Edward took a step out the door, his voice raised and angry when he spoke. “My son is no killer. Whoever has made these accusations is mistaken. It was a dark night last night, and whatever the man saw was not my son.”

  The crowd shouted insults at Edward, and Patrick balled his fists. He had heard enough. It was time to leave.

  With his back pressed to the wall, he slipped into the kitchen and then climbed the stairs down into the cellar. It smelled of earth, potatoes, and onions down here - a place he had never liked as a child. On the far wall stood a shelf laden with goods; herbs, salt, marmalades, pickles, and a variety of other edibles. Patrick grabbed the corner of the rack and moved it forward just enough so he could slip behind it.

  A dusty sheet hid the entrance to a low tunnel, and Patrick ducked into it, before sliding the shelf back into place. Hunched over, he made his way along the passage in the dark.

  Dry air, dust, and spider webs soon had him coughing, but he forced himself to continue. The tunnel was of the original design of the manor but had not been used in generations.

  Patrick knew it came out at the western side of their farm, close to the river. When the footing underneath be
came damp, and the air less dry, Patrick knew he was getting close.

  Bushes and bracken completely blocked the exit, but Patrick did not hack at it with his knife to cut an opening. Instead, he cut a few strategic branches, enough to slip through on the side, leaving the exit still hidden.

  Soft, fertile forest soil led down to the river from the exit, testing Patrick’s ability to hide his footprints. Once at the river, he stayed in the water, following the stream upriver for two miles before he stopped to take stock.

  He had no horse, no provisions, and no weapons; except his hunting knife, which always hung on his belt.

  If the townspeople believed him the monster that killed the men, he could not set foot within the vicinity of Ashford without being lynched. He needed to prove his innocence and to do that he needed to find the real monster.

  First, though, he would find a place to hide. Dorien and the men were sure to hunt him. Thus he could not stay here. Although Patrick knew these woods well, so did the rest of the townsfolk. He thought about his experiences in the war and how he had survived under even the most gruelling of circumstances. One of his many talents had been hiding in plain sight.

  With a rueful grin on his face, Patrick fixed his new destination in his mind and began the circuitous route to get there.

  A dim light came from the window on the top floor, letting Patrick know Angelica was still awake. The rest of the house was in darkness as he prowled around it, looking for a way to reach Angelica’s window.

  The sprawling manor had a wide veranda on its ground level, but no balconies on the top floors. The best he could do was to climb onto the veranda roof and attempt her window from there.

  Shimmying up one of the support beams, Patrick heaved himself up onto the veranda roof. Hunched over, and remaining low, he sneaked by the upper-floor windows until he reached the only one with the light burning inside.

  Angelica drew the curtains back at his first knock against the windowpane, and he prayed feverishly she wouldn’t scream. He was sure she had already heard about the accusations against him.

  Without hesitation, Angelica opened her window and stuck her head out. “What in God’s Graces are you doing out here?” she whispered. “They will kill you if they find you.”

  “I had to see you. To explain. Please, may I come in?”

  Angelica disappeared into her room, and Patrick followed her in. The dim light came from a three-pronged candle holder on Angelica’s bedside table. The flames flickered as the wind from the window caught them, and Angelica quickly shut the window behind him, drawing the curtains. The room smelled of Angelica’s sweet perfume, and her bed was unmade; she had lain in it already tonight.

  “Angelica, I want you to know I had nothing to do with those murders.”

  She took his hands. “I know. Do you think I would let you into my room if I believed you to be a monster?”

  Patrick’s heart thudded; he wanted her to know the truth about him, but he also wanted her to believe he had nothing to do with the killings. How could he explain the difference?

  “Angelica, I …”

  “Hush,” she whispered, and put a finger to his lips, listening.

  His sensitive ears now also picked up the sound that had alerted her, although he was surprised she had heard it at all. Down below, on the lower floor, was movement.

  “Where are you hiding?” Angelica asked in a hushed voice.

  “By the boat shed.”

  “I will see you tomorrow. Now, go quickly.”

  Angelica shoved him towards the window, but he did not need to be asked twice, as the sounds made their way up the stairs.

  The window closed behind him with a soft click, and Patrick hurried along the edge of the house to a point where he could jump off the roof. The garden around the manor looked dark and quiet, but his wolf senses picked up danger ahead. Staying on the roof, lying flat on his stomach, he watched as a guard walked passed, holding a dog on a leash. Patrick remained still until they were a hundred yards away before he jumped off and ran off through the trees.

  Lord Alaric was taking no chances with his daughter. An armed night guard, and a dog, and he was sure that whoever was moving around the house was hired exclusively to protect Angelica.

  Patrick was sure that Dorien, or the rest of the men, would take advantage of his desire to see Angelica, and set traps for him. He would need to be careful.

  Making sure he left no traces behind, Patrick settled in between the old boats in the boat shed. No one ever came here anymore, and for now, he was safe.

  Dorien glanced around at the men in the hall. He was tired from the night spent riding through the forest looking for Patrick. He was tired of the men shouting for Patrick’s blood.

  “We will continue the search as soon as fresh horses are ready,” he promised, giving in to the pressure. “Those who rode through the night can rest, while the other volunteers take over.”

  “What about Sender?” someone shouted.

  Dorien grimaced, remembering the meeting he’d had with the family. “The funeral will only be in two days. They have asked the doctor to reassemble James’ body before they inter him.”

  Those of the men who had seen James Sender’s dismembered body all appeared horrified at the thought. Sender had been found hacked to pieces; his body parts scattered amongst his pigs. When the man was found, the pigs had already started to eat from his flesh and had to be chased from their meal.

  Patrick was many things, including a werewolf, but he was not … that. Dorien had known Patrick all his life, and even war could not have turned Patrick into a man who could do such a thing.

  Tiredly, he waited until everyone had filed out of the hall, before locking up and climbing on his horse. Making sure he wasn’t followed, he rode out to Blakesley Manor.

  “Dorien,” Edward greeted him.

  “I’m sorry, my friend. There is nothing I can do to change their minds. The best I could do is convince them that you had nothing to do with it. For now, they are leaving you, and your wife, out of it.”

  “Thank you, Dorien; it is already more than I can ask for.”

  “Do you know where he is?”

  Edward shook his head. “He left when you came knocking yesterday, and I haven’t seen him since. He would do well to stay away.”

  “Warn him, if you hear from him. The men will shoot on sight. They will not easily forget what was done to Sender, and they are looking for revenge.”

  “I cannot blame them, but how do we convince them that Patrick had nothing to do with it?”

  “We need to find out who did, Edward. It is why I am here. Richard and his son will do private patrols every night from now on. I have asked my cousin from London to help us out. He should be here within a few days. And I need you to patrol the western part of the forest.”

  Edward nodded. “I will do whatever is necessary.”

  “The town is in an uproar. This is not going to go away quietly. Until we find out who is behind these killings, your son is in danger. Keep your wits about you, Edward. I will do whatever I can from my side.”

  Patrick had noticed it before; Angelica’s ability to walk in near silence. Had he not been sitting in the tree above the path keeping a lookout, he might have missed her approaching.

  Angelica wore a plain, black dress, and she carried a leather satchel over her left arm. With the hood of her cape pulled deep over her face to hide her skin, she blended in perfectly with the deep shadows of the trees.

  “I have brought you food,” she said when she neared his tree, startling him.

  “How did you know I was up there?” he asked, jumping down onto the path.

  Angelica smiled. “The buckle of your knife glints in the sporadic rays of sunlight that find their way between the leaves,” she said, winking.

  Patrick laughed, taking the satchel from her, and then taking her hand. It was a novice mistake for him to leave his knife uncovered, but he was impressed she had picked up on it.<
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  They sat inside the boatshed, out of sight.

  Angelica looked around at the dusty place, grimacing. “This will not do at all, Master Patrick. There is a blanket in the bag, but I will bring you some items to make you comfortable tomorrow.”

  “I cannot get too comfortable, Angelica. I need to be able to leave at a moment’s notice. If they find me, they will kill me.”

  “They will not find you here,” she said with such confidence, he wanted to believe her.

  “Angelica, there is something I need to tell you.”

  She looked up at him with her dark eyes, full of trust. Patrick wanted nothing more than to keep that trust forever, and he prayed she would not be scared of him.

  “Your secret is safe with me, Patrick,” she whispered, putting a warm hand on his cheek.

  He frowned, wondering if they were talking about the same thing. He shook his head, looking at her thoughtfully. “It is important for me to tell you my love. You need to know the truth.”

  “Patrick,” she smiled, “I know the beast that resides within you, for I have seen the wolf many times during our lovemaking. Do you not think I can hear you growl? Or see your eyes change shape and colour? I know what you are, and I love you anyway.”

  “You are not afraid?”

  Angelica laughed. “Afraid? Of someone who can make me feel the way you can? No, Patrick, I am not afraid. I know it was not you who killed those men, the same as I know you were born a werewolf, and have trained your entire life to control who and what you are.”

  Patrick’s heart soared with joy, and he leaned in to kiss her. He did not pay attention to the niggling warning sending shivers down his back - how did she know about the training?

  Chapter 8

  “You must understand, Edward, that if you were any other employee of mine, I would have fired you,” Albert hissed. “As it is, I know you well enough to know that you had nothing to do with these murders. That said, I must warn you that if your son comes anywhere near my property, I will have him killed immediately. Do you understand?”