Tall, Dark and Wolfish

by Lydia Dare

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-one

  Thirty-two

  Thirty-three

  Thirty-four

  Thirty-five

  Thirty-six

  Thirty-seven

  Thirty-eight

  Thirty-nine

  Forty

  Forty-one

  Forty-two

  Forty-three

  Forty-four

  Forty-five

  Forty-six

  Forty-seven

  Forty-eight

  Forty-nine

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2010 by Lydia Dare

  Cover and internal design © 2010 by Sourcebooks, Inc. Cover design by April Martinez

  Cover images © fmbackx/iStockphoto.com; mehmet alci/ Shutterstock.com; billnoll/iStockphoto.com; StanRohrer/ iStockphoto.com; Photos.com

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  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of

  Sourcebooks, Inc.

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  To Petrina and the ladies at the Historical Romance Critique Group on Yahoo!—Thank you for cheering me on, your wonderful friendship, an endless supply of smileys, and for catching all those pesky typos.

  One

  Arthur’s Seat, Edinburgh July 1816

  If Elspeth Campbell revealed how much she wanted to leave the cold, damp cave, her coven sisters would surely think she was mad. Her plaid slipped from her shoulders, and she fought the shiver that threatened, trying to close her eyes and mind to the chilly Scottish air. She couldn’t pull the plaid back into place until the ceremony was over.

  They were meeting earlier than scheduled, as Caitrin foresaw trouble on the horizon for the Còig, though she hadn’t revealed her fears to them yet. Truthfully, Elspeth didn’t think Caitrin was certain what threatened them. They all knew the visions were clearest for their seer when the five of them were together.

  To her right, Rhiannon tightened her grasp on Elspeth’s hand while Sorcha and Blaire closed the space between them, which tightened the ring of four around Caitrin. In the middle of their circle, the seer’s eyes were closed, her hands stretched toward the heavens.

  Caitrin hummed an ancient melody, passed from one generation of Còig witches to the next. Then she stopped and all was quiet in the cave—so quiet that Elspeth could only hear the drumming of her own heart and Sorcha’s rapid breathing to her left.

  “I see a handsome man,” Caitrin began softly. Her lilting voice echoed off the dark cavern walls.

  “I’d like ta see one of those,” Sorcha giggled.

  The murderous look Rhiannon shot the youngest witch prevented any further levity from entering their circle.

  “He bears the mark of the beast,” Caitrin continued as though she’d never been interrupted.

  Chills shot down Elspeth’s spine, which had nothing to do with the loss of her plaid or the cool air in the cave. The mark of the beast. She’d heard those words her entire life.

  “He will disrupt us. He will try ta take Elspeth from our circle.”

  Suddenly Elspeth had three sets of eyes on her. It would have been four, but Caitrin’s were still closed as the vision played out in her mind.

  “The beast canna be allowed ta break our coven. Disaster will fall if he succeeds.” Caitrin’s haunting blue eyes opened and she focused them on Elspeth.

  Sucking in a surprised breath, Elspeth tried to snatch her hands back from Rhiannon and Sorcha, but their hold tightened. Her heart pounded faster and she felt certain she would faint.

  Caitrin stepped forward and touched her fingers to Elspeth’s brow. “Do ye ken the man I speak of, El?”

  A nervous laugh escaped Elspeth’s throat and

  she nodded. She had never thought he would actually come for her. After all, he’d abandoned her mother long before she was born. “My father,” she whispered.

  Though Elspeth had never met her sire, she knew he wore the mark of the beast. So it must be him. Who else would try to take her from her coven?

  Caitrin’s brow furrowed. “He felt younger than that.”

  Elspeth shook her head. “I doona ken another man with the mark, Cait.”

  Finally the seer nodded. “Very well. Ye must be diligent. He canna be allowed ta take ye from us. The future of the Còig depends upon it.”

  Elspeth nodded. She’d never known Caitrin’s visions to be wrong, but in her twenty-one years, her father had never even contacted her. It didn’t seem likely he would suddenly show interest in her wellbeing. “I will be careful.”

  At the same time in London…

  Rain poured over the brim of Lord Benjamin Westfield’s beaver hat. He stepped out of the darkness and crossed the threshold of Canis House, the exclusive social club to which he belonged. He handed his drenched greatcoat and ruined hat to the awaiting footman and walked into the warm light of the drawing room.

  Ben glanced around at the other members, searching the faces for his older brothers. They weren’t there. Thank God! He didn’t think he could put on a cheerful face tonight, and they would most certainly see through his dark mood.

  “Is the Duke of Blackmoor here this evening?” he asked the footman just to be certain.

  The man shook his head. “I have not seen His Grace. However, Lord William was here, my lord.”

  Ben looked around the room once more. He didn’t see Will. If he was quick, he could leave before his brother ever knew he was here. “And Major Forster?”

  The footman gestured toward the back of the drawing room. “At his usual table, my lord.”

  Ben took the first relieved breath he’d had in days, hopeful the major could help him. He thanked the footman and then crossed the room to where his father’s oldest friend sat in a dark corner, sipping whisky. “Am I interrupting?”

  Major Desmond Forster’s dark eyes twinkled as he looked up from his drink. “Ah, Benjamin. It’s been an age. Please, please.” He gestured toward an empty chair at his table. “To what do I owe this honor?”

  Ben swallowed. It wasn’t something he could just blurt out. In fact, now that he was here, he didn’t know what to say to Forster at all. “I, uh, could use your counsel, sir.”

  “My counsel?” The old man leaned back in his seat and grinned. “I am flatt
ered. I thought you generally sought out Blackmoor.”

  Usually he did want his brother Simon’s advice. But this wasn’t something he could discuss with either of his brothers. In fact, keeping Simon and Will from learning his secret was of the utmost importance. Ben took a deep breath and leaned in close over the table. “I’m in trouble, Major.”

  The man’s smile vanished instantly. “What sort of trouble, Benjamin?”

  He held tightly to the table and willed the words out of his mouth. “I didn’t change.”

  “You didn’t change?” the officer echoed.

  “With the full moon last night,” he explained. “I. Didn’t. Change.”

  For the first time in his life as a Lycan man, Benjamin Westfield hadn’t sprouted a tail, long snout, or paws with the coming of the full moon. He’d sought the moon the same way he always did, this time in a clearing in the woods, for his transformation. But last night nothing had happened. A moonbeam touched him, but the change that was so much a part of him didn’t come, and he’d stood there for an eternity waiting and wondering why he was broken.

  Major Forster’s face drained of its color and his mouth fell open. “You didn’t change?” he repeated, this time in sotto voce, with a world of meaning in his words.

  Ben shook his head. “Do you know why?”

  “Benjamin, we always change.”

  “Well, not me. Not last night.”

  The major motioned for two more glasses. “What happened?”

  “Nothing happened. The moon hit me like it always does. But I didn’t feel the pain, nor the joy, of changing. Nothing happened at all.”

  Major Forster scratched his head. “Prior to last night, did you feel the same call of the moon in the days leading up to the moonful?” He pushed a glass of whisky toward Ben with the tips of his fingers.

  Ben sighed. Now that he mentioned it, he hadn’t felt the same call. He hadn’t been lusty or angry or felt the need to withdraw. But he hadn’t really paid it much attention. Changing was as natural to him as breathing. It had been a part of him for fourteen of his twenty-six years, since adolescence.

  Ben could only shake his head in dismay as he slumped in his chair. “No. I don’t believe I did.”

  “Do you believe this has anything to do with that little incident in Brighton last month?” Major Forster raised one eyebrow.

  Ben’s eyes shot up quickly to meet the major’s. “How did you know about that?”

  “News travels quickly in our circle, Benjamin.”

  “I didn’t mean to hurt her,” Ben mumbled.

  “We never do,” the major said as he clapped a hand to Ben’s shoulder. “What did Blackmoor have to say about it?”

  Ben exhaled loudly and shook his head. “What didn’t he have to say about it?” he breathed.

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Worse,” Ben admitted.

  “Those of our kind have to be aware of our strength—and our lust—as the moon grows fuller.” His eyes narrowed as he regarded Ben.

  “I know. Believe me, I have heard it all from Simon. ‘You can’t be with a woman that close to the phase of the moon. You could get out of control. How many times do I have to tell you? Now look what happened!’” He mocked his oldest brother’s imperious tone.

  Major Forster chuckled.

  “The woman was just scared. Really scared. Who would have thought that a whore would have been so squeamish?”

  “Blackmoor, obviously.”

  Ben finally took a sip of his whisky and appreciated the way it made his eyes water. At least he felt something then. “I went to see the woman after the full moon. She’s doing just fine. She actually apologized to me for screaming loud enough to call the watch.”

  “What did you learn from that experience?” the major asked.

  “That I can’t control the beast when it’s so close to the full moon. I thought I could.” He waved a hand in the air. “Other Lycans control themselves with women. They get along beautifully together.”

  “You will learn more about the type of relationship they have when you meet your own mate, my boy.”

  “But what do I do about not changing? I think I’m broken. I need to go back.”

  “There’s only one way to go back,” Major Forster mumbled as he scrubbed a hand across his mouth.

  “Pardon?”

  The major coughed into his hand. “There’s only one person who can help you.” He stopped talking and fixed his stare on his glass of whisky. Ben watched him for a moment.

  “Major?” he finally prompted him.

  The man finally tore his gaze from the glass. “Yes?” he asked, obviously distracted by his own thoughts.

  “You were going to tell me how to fix it.”

  “Oh, yes.” The man sat forward. “You must find a healer.”

  “A what?”

  “A healer,” the major repeated.

  “You mean a witch?” Ben fought back a hysterical laugh. He’d come to his father’s old friend for guidance, and he was going to send him to find a fabled creature that didn’t exist. Oh, life was not working in his favor.

  “A witch. A healer. Call it what you will. But you must find one.”

  “Everyone knows that witches are the things of legends and myths.”

  “As are we, my boy. As are we. But you can take my word for it, Benjamin. They do exist.”

  Two

  Elspeth brushed her hair from her eyes and secured it with a pewter hair comb. Her fingertips lingered a moment over the raised surface of the comb, which was etched with the form of a large dog, his snout raised in the air. It was one of the only things she had left of her mother.

  Despite the fact that it had been given to her mother by the man who left her with child, Elspeth adored the piece because her mother had never been without it. It had held back Rosewyth Campbell’s flaming red hair every day that El could remember. And now it held back hers.

  The flyaway locks were quite a nuisance at times. She never could quite keep the wayward tresses in a tidy chignon at her neck like most girls. Her hair had a mind of its own. And it didn’t want to be tamed. Much like Elspeth herself refused to be tamed.

  Before her mother had died, El’s lack of social graces had been the cause of their most frequent arguments.

  Elspeth smiled to herself as she thought of her mother telling her to tie her hair back with a ribbon to keep it out of her face. Or to tuck it under her bonnet so that no one would notice her constant state of dishabille.

  Caitrin broke her from her memories. “I ken ye want ta meet him.”

  “Meet who?” Elspeth asked, her mind on other matters.

  “The one who wears the mark of the beast.”

  Elspeth sighed. “Since ye can see the future, ye must ken I’m already curious.”

  “Curiosity is in yer soul, El. No’ in yer future,” the girl chuckled as she hooked her arm through Elspeth’s and dragged her down the street.

  “I canna help it if I’ve a naturally inquisitive mind.”

  Caitrin leaned close and whispered dramatically, “I believe the word is ‘meddlesome.’”

  “I am no’ meddlesome.” Elspeth spat it out like the vilest of curse words. Then she couldn’t hold back her grin. “I just need ta ken everythin’ about everyone and help out if needed.”

  “Exactly. Meddlesome,” Caitrin laughed, but then she sobered. “What do ye think it means? The mark?”

  Elspeth had really hoped they’d changed the subject. “Honestly, I have no idea.”

  “But that is what yer mother called the mark you have?”

  Elspeth’s fingers automatically slid over her left wrist, where her own moon-shaped mark marred her skin. “She did. My father was a beast. And he wore the mark. So I wear the mark. That’s all she ever said about it.”

  “Ye doona ken more than that? Surely she said somethin’ about the man who sired ye.”

  “Very little,” Elspeth confessed. Whenever the subject arose, her mothe
r’s eyes would fill with tears and the conversation came to an end. El eventually stopped asking questions. “All I ken is he was a large man. He stood a head and shoulders taller than most others, my grandfather says.”

  “And he just disappeared?” Caitrin asked, unable to hide her scandalized tone.

  Though they were members of a mystical coven, none of whom followed social strictures, being the bastard daughter of Rosewyth Campbell was still offensive to propriety. “Aye. After he got what he needed from my mother, he disappeared. I canna help but wonder what he needs from me now.”

  Caitrin stopped in her tracks, drawing Elspeth to a halt. “Ye canna go with him, El.”

  “Doona ye think I ken that?” She started walking again toward the dress shop on Queen Street.

  Caitrin chased after her. “Aye, but…”

  “I have no intention of leavin’ with him, Cait. But I have ta meet him, especially if he’s come for me. He’s part of me and… well, I doona expect ye ta understand.” She pushed open the door to the shop, and a little bell tinkled as she stepped inside.

  Almost at once she was nearly knocked to the ground by the suffocating sandalwood scent that assaulted her. Elspeth blinked back tears and stared up into the dark brown eyes of Mr. Alec MacQuarrie. “My dear Miss Campbell,” he began smoothly in his cultured English accent. When Caitrin entered the shop, his smile broadened to that of a lovesick puppy. “And Miss Macleod. It is truly a pleasure seeing you this fine morning.”

  Caitrin shot Elspeth her most exasperated look.

  In the last few weeks, it had seemed as though they couldn’t go anywhere that Mr. MacQuarrie didn’t show up. There was nothing outwardly offensive about the fellow, other than his unwanted and pointed attention constantly focused on the pretty, blond Caitrin. Mr. MacQuarrie was quite handsome with burnished auburn hair, an athletic build, and a strong chin. However, he was well aware of his attributes and often appeared more vain than the silliest of debutantes. But, Elspeth supposed, a fine English education would probably have that effect on anyone.

  “Mr. MacQuarrie,” Elspeth replied with a fraudulent smile as Caitrin turned her attention to the young shop girl. “I certainly wouldna think the interior of Mairghread’s dress shop would interest ye of all people.”

  His smile didn’t falter. “I was hoping to find the perfect ribbon for the perfect girl.” His eyes flashed to Caitrin. Then he whispered, “Might you take pity on me, lass? I think you know her tastes better than I.”