Layers to Peel

by Tilly Wallace

  Ewan handed Alick his jacket and murmured under his breath, "You wouldn't be making calf eyes at your wife, would you?"

  "I'd be a damn fool if I were, given she can't bear the sight of me." For the hundredth time he cursed himself as an idiot for moving forward as a duellist. He should have stayed hidden in the shadows and let a handsome creature like Ewan step into the light. Isabel and Ewan were more suited; why hadn't Ewan's wolf prodded him forward? Or had he buried the creature so deep inside him that he no longer heard it?

  "Attraction isn't always based on appearance. Perhaps you need to establish some common ground first," the lieutenant said as they walked to their horses.

  Alick blew out a long breath. They had no common ground. She was a soaring bird and he was a mud-dwelling toad. He would rather take up knitting with his own intestines than sit in a richly decorated parlour sipping tea and talking about some silly book or painting. He could no more imagine himself in Isabel's delicate world than he could imagine her in his coarse one. She would never want to live rough and travel constantly, and all with the risk of people trying to kill her.

  Alick's feet stopped of their own accord and he nearly tripped over himself. His mind ran to catch up as he stumbled on an idea hidden in his lament. Isabel was a woman who had declared she would only accept a groom who could best her in a duel. A woman whom he caught climbing down a rope to escape from her bedroom window. A creature who wanted to learn how to box and who threw a decent punch.

  "Ah." A smile pulled on Ewan' full lips. "Think of something?"

  Alick gave his lieutenant a one-fingered salute that provoked a laugh as he swung into the saddle. He didn't dislike Ewan because he was refined and handsome, or because men and women swooned at his feet. No, the discomfort was because the elegant bastard was usually right.

  Hamish joined them. "Quinn and Ewan will stand watch with the women. Let us see if we can flush our quarry out from the undergrowth."

  Alick picked up his reins. "Good. I have an urge to chew a piece off one of the duke's men."

  Hamish nodded. "Let's ride out, leave the horses, and circle around on foot."

  They hacked out down the main track, talking loudly and ensuring the duke's men saw them leave. Alick wondered what Balcairn thought his eyes would see, watching them constantly. He also hoped the duke had found the drops of blood he’d squeezed from his finger onto the fine linen sheets of Isabel's bed, and that it satisfied his morbid curiosity.

  A few miles down the road they took to the trees and the tracks left by woodland animals. They cut their conversation and rode single file through dense forest, following a path worn by animals heading to drink at the nearby river. Once they had nearly made their way back to the lodge, they tethered the horses. Hamish and Alick shed their clothes, folded the items and stowed them in saddlebags. Then both men dropped to all fours, fur sprouting over their bodies as they fell. Limbs reshaped themselves and muscles adjusted to a different shape, all in the time it took to draw a single breath.

  Where two men once stood were now two large wolves. Both as tall as wolf hounds, the only difference—apart from the scar Alick carried in both forms—was in hue of fur, Alick's fur more red and auburn than Hamish's chestnut and auburn.

  The wolves scented the air. Alick picked up the faint whiff of unwashed body odour that differed from the pungent odour of some critter decaying under the leaf litter.

  He made eye contact with his leader and pointed with his muzzle, then they trotted off through low-hanging branches. Leaves whispered against fur. Twigs made no noise under the wolves' pads. Deeper into the forest they stalked their prey, circling around to the lodge. They danced with the undergrowth, ducking under tree limbs and sliding through bushes so nothing would alert the watcher. The duke's man heard only the movement of the trees and wind and the occasional burst of bird song.

  The man leaned on a tree and peered around the trunk, watching the small courtyard that separated the lodge from the stables. Ewan sat on the bench in the sun, cleaning tack with Isabel sitting at his side. Occasional laughter drifted on the light breeze. The large red wolf's hackles rose as a stab of jealousy carved through Alick. His bride seemed so relaxed and talkative with the dashing lieutenant.

  Alick swung his head back to his pack leader to find Hamish watching him, a serious glint in his narrowed hazel eyes. Oh, bollocks. He really was making a fist of things. Soon everyone would have caught him staring at his wife and sighing like a lovesick dairymaid. Hamish's wolf grinned, its lips pulling back over long canines. Then the large wolf sat and its furry eyebrows rose above its eyes. His relaxed posture indicated the watcher was all Alick's.

  Good. His skin was starting to itch from pent-up frustration. He needed to vent on something. The man spying on his family seemed a good place to start. He wasn't allowed to kill him, despite how he longed to wrap his jaws around his scrawny neck and hear it snap. Alick would have to settle for terrifying the hapless servant instead.

  A big wolf can move silently through the forest, just like an elephant makes no noise in the jungle. Being large didn't mean you crashed and banged when you walked; all it took was being aware of where you placed your feet. The spongy pads of his paws adapted to the terrain under them in a way boots never could. Alick stalked his prey with relish and, in just a few heartbeats, covered the distance between them. He stood right behind the spy and yet the man still had no idea of his presence.

  The wolf kept its hackles raised and emitted a low growl to alert the watcher that he was no longer alone.

  The man leapt and turned at the same time. Alick crept another foot closer, so the man was pressed into the bark of the tree trying to escape the massive animal.

  "Nice doggy," he said, holding up his hands.

  That just made Alick growl deeper. What was wrong with people that they couldn't tell the difference between a common mutt and a wolf?

  The Hamish wolf moved closer, in case the hapless prey tried to bolt to one side or the other. His escape routes were now blocked, unless he could merge with the tree and appear on the other side of its large trunk, or fly.

  "Why don't you run along and find a rabbit to chase? I have work to do." The man tried to shoo Alick away.

  Alick turned to Hamish and rolled his eyes. Then he jumped up on his hind legs and pressed his front paws to the man's shoulders. He pulled his lips back in a snarl, exposing pointed canines as he leaned toward the man's throat.

  Alick stared at wide eyes until the other man looked away. This wasn't the man Aster had recognised at the ball—the shadow man Balcairn was going to let paw at Isabel. That sapped some of the heat from his mood.

  The sharp tang of fear scented the air and added to the odour of the man's sweaty body. He seemed to have difficulty forming words as he tried not to look at the enormous wolf about to snap his neck. "Wh—what do you want?"

  "You seem to be think this is a theatre and you are waiting for a show to start." Hamish shifted form and spoke from beside Alick. That was the one problem with being a wolf; conversations with men were somewhat limited.

  "I don't know what you mean. I just happened to be passing by, I merely stopped to relieve myself. Please call off your dog." The man's voice turned high-pitched with panic as Alick kept his pale gaze locked on the man's turned face.

  The peeping Tom wriggled under Alick's paws like an overexcited puppy. Opening his jaw's wide, Alick touched his teeth to either side of the man's throat. Just a slight graze to keep him quiet.

  A thin, reedy whimper of fear came from the pinned man's chest. The wolf snarled and saliva dribbled over the man's skin. Still Alick kept him pressed against the tree.

  "You better explain to my sergeant there why you were watching his wife, before the wolf closes its jaws and tears out your throat. He gets a little grumpy when people threaten his family." Hamish's words were softly spoken.

  The man's struggles became erratic; perhaps his brain couldn't decide between fight, flight, and playing dead
. The more he fought, the deeper Alick's canines pressed into his skin. "Oh God. It's you. You're the wolf. You don't understand—"

  At that point words failed the peeping Tom.

  Another growl rumbled from the wolf and its teeth sank a fraction deeper, piercing skin. Now a thin trickle of blood joined the saliva on its journey down the front of the man's shirt. Alick hoped they could move things along before the man soiled himself. He stank badly enough already, and Alick didn't want extra smells assaulting his sensitive nose.

  For someone who was standing naked in the trees while a wolf savaged an interloper, Hamish looked remarkably calm, but then that was why they called him captain and leader. He kept a cool head under most circumstances. "Balcairn set you to watch us ever since we moved in two days ago. You can either admit it or I shift back to wolf form and watch Alick finish you."

  The whimpers now alternated with sobs. They were choked sobs because of the pressure around his throat, but the man was crying hard. At least he had stopped turning puce, and the colour seemed to reverse and drain back out of him as he realised he couldn't break free of the wolf.

  "Yes. Yes. His grace set me to watch you and report back. I freely admit it. Now call him off." He held up his hands, keeping them well clear of the beast at his throat.

  Alick growled and released his lock around the man's neck. Then he dropped back to all fours but still kept the wretch pinned to the spot with his unblinking stare.

  The man rubbed his hands over his neck, which now showed clear puncture marks on either side and a trail of blood from the small wounds. "I won't turn into one of those now, will I?" A new terror entered his brain at being bitten by a lycanthrope.

  "It doesn't work like that," Hamish said. "Get to the bit about Balcairn before Alick realises he's hungry."

  The man tried to take another step backward and ended up kicking the tree. With the sleeve of one arm, he wiped his neck. "The duke is merely concerned about his daughter."

  Alick snapped and snarled, lunging at the man. Bollocks, he thought. If the duke had any feelings for his daughter he would never have married her off to a man he had never met before.

  "He doesn't believe you." Hamish pointed to the angry wolf.

  "That's all I know, honest." The words came out with a high-pitched squeal.

  Alick stared at his prey and wondered who this man was in the normal course of a day. A footman? No. That sort rarely ventured outside. This one had a more healthy complexion, once his breathing returned to normal. More likely a stable hand or gardener. He had a rough edge to him that spoke of never having done service inside the large house. Whoever he was, he wasn't one of those they sought, which saved his life this day.

  The wolf sat and glanced at his leader.

  Hamish pointed back in the direction of the big house. "You're going to leave and not come back. Isabel and Alick deserve some privacy. If any of you come back, you will deal with the wolves, not the men, do you understand?"

  The man stared at the wolf in front of him, the faint tinge of red on its jaws. He touched his throat, then gave up on words and explanations and simply nodded.

  Alick stepped back to Hamish's side and the spy, once he realised he was dismissed, took off at a run like a rabbit with the dogs hard on his heel.

  He shook himself free of fur and stood up as a man. He turned to his cousin and said, "Now what?"

  Hamish's hazel gaze hardened. Like Aster's terrier, he wouldn't stop once he detected his prey. "We keep looking. Forge is here. I can scent him. Like a rotting carcass in the undergrowth, he taints the air."

  That suited Alick. He needed a good hunt. He cast one last look back at the lodge. Ewan and Isabel had their heads bent close, as he showed her some detail of the bridle he cleaned. Life wasn't fair. Why couldn't the fates have gifted Alick with a silver tongue to make up for his lack of looks? At least then he could talk to his bride. By the time he returned to the lodge she would be half in love with Ewan, and he would be more uncouth and hideous by comparison.

  He forgot he was naked and kicked the tree trunk. Which hurt. He glared at his naked foot as though it was at fault.

  "Do you want to mount an all-out assault on the tree and get splinters in your toes, or do you want to talk about whatever is bothering you?"

  Alick screwed up his face. Of course he didn't want to talk about it. He wasn't ready to admit she was his mate and yet she found him repugnant. What was there to talk about? His wolf only wanted the one woman who wanted nothing to do with him. No amount of weeping on Hamish's shoulder would change that. "No."

  "Then let's see what we can find elsewhere." Hamish dropped to all fours and fluidly shifted back into wolf form. Alick cast one last look at Isabel, happy in the sun, and then he sighed and likewise threw off his skin in exchange for the shaggy fur.

  They spent the afternoon crisscrossing hundreds of acres as wolves, following each scent trail that seemed promising, only to encounter one dead end after another. Then they returned to their snoozing horses, dressed, and rode out to talk to the locals. They stopped and talked to whomever they encountered, hoping for some dropped snippet that would give their search a direction. They hunted for any clue as to the whereabouts of the men who had taken Aster's father. By early evening they admitted defeat for the day, and returned to the lodge.

  15

  Isabel

  * * *

  The kitchen was warm and comfy as the women chatted and set about preparing the evening meal. Everyone looked as though they had a task to perform, except Isabel. Not that she would stoop to dirtying her hands. It was different for the others—they were all common-born and used to labouring. She took a seat, watched, and felt slightly bored.

  Ianthe slid a knife across the table, then a bucket containing potatoes. Isabel glanced from one to the other and then looked up. The implication was clear, but so ludicrous she must be missing some joke. "Do you expect me to prepare a meal?"

  Ianthe arched an eyebrow. "Good Lord, no. I assume you can't cook, but you can help by peeling potatoes."

  Isabel drew a breath inward and then seemed incapable of exhaling. Peel potatoes? Of all the ignominious undignified tasks to ask of her! "Peel potatoes? Me? Surely you jest!"

  Ianthe pointed to the small wooden-handled blade. "I thought you had some skill with a knife? Just take a thin layer off, we don't want to waste too much. You'll need to do the entire bucket. The men have quite large appetites. They seem to eat for both themselves and their wolves."

  Isabel had reached her tolerance for absurdity today; she pushed back the stool and rose. She moved away from the bucket of potatoes as though it were a lit keg of gunpowder. "This is a kitchen maid's work, and I am the daughter of a duke."

  The courtesan had the audacity to look bored as she pulled a bowl of peas toward her and started shelling. "Yes, you keep on saying that, but you seem to forget that you are now the wife of a common soldier who does not command a staff. You either learn how to peel a potato or go hungry."

  The woman by the stove, Sarah, actually snorted at the comment. A servant dared laugh at her, where once that woman's sort wouldn't even have presumed to raise her eyes as she passed. Isabel tried to muster up a tart retort but for once her famed barbed tongue failed her.

  "I will do no such thing." She fled from the kitchen and ran across the dirt courtyard to the stables. Horses snorted as she shot past to the end of the short aisle. A rickety ladder led up to the loft, where she threw herself into the fragrant hay. Tears sprang to her eyes. They expected her to work. Her!

  Isabel buried her face in her arms and wailed. The thick layer of hay muffled her cries as she sobbed. How far she had tumbled and how unfair life was, that she was reduced to this, a pathetic creature hiding in a loft. When she exhausted her tears, she rolled over.

  She lay back in the hay and stared at the roof. The planks didn't align perfectly and the odd sliver of light escaped through and washed the space a pale gold. Dust spun and danced above her head a
nd she watched the motes drift to the tune of unheard music.

  Her life was not going as she planned. But then what exactly had been her plan? She had hated her former life and how it constricted her. In that world, she lived as though trapped behind a mirror, and she spent years hammering on the glass looking for a way to break free. Every breath used to come tight and hot in her chest. Here, she could draw deep lungfuls of air. These people challenged her mind and expected her to pull her weight and contribute.

  The night of the ball she had planned to steal a horse and gallop away, free. Only now, in this company, did she realise how woefully unprepared she was to look after herself, once deprived of the comforts of her noble life. Oh, she pretended that she would have this grand adventure facing pirates and charging elephants, but she wasn't even brave enough to peel a potato. How would she eat or provide for herself during the worldwide exploration she concocted in her mind?

  More questions swirled in Isabel's brain, as she sorted through what she wanted from life and how she would achieve it. Ianthe's words from earlier in the day kept repeating in her head. The new beginning gave her an opportunity to forge a fresh identity. Who did she want to be? Would Alick let her be the woman who lurked beneath her surface, trying to break free? And more importantly, was she brave enough to find out?

  Another deep breath. Nothing would change if she stayed sulking in the barn. If she wanted a new life then she had to take the first step toward it. Change was scary and different from everything she knew, but she would never know how her life might unfold, if she didn't try. She would take the first step on a new path, and that step was learning how to peel a potato.

  She wiped her damp eyes on her skirt and headed back down the ladder. As she passed the horses in the stables she stroked their muzzles, a simple touch to borrow some of their strength for the task ahead.

  The kitchen door stood open and she slipped back in and took a seat. The other women glanced up but no one spoke. Isabel picked up the knife and selected a potato from the bucket. Only then did she dare to meet the courtesan's gaze and whisper the words she never thought to utter: "Would you teach me, please?"