by Nhys Glover
Byron’s arms came around her, drawing her in closer. It was like a haven: warm, solid and real. She breathed in his scent, as she listened to his fast beating heart. It steadied her.
‘You promised him porridge?’ His words were more gruff sounds echoing up from his chest than true communication, but she understood. She smiled at the exaggerated offense in his tone.
‘I know Cook has a cold buffet set out. But, if it was me, I’d be wanting hot porridge after a night down there. I can make it. I will probably not be getting much sleep. I have watched Cook, and I used to make it for mother and I. It is only a matter of proportion.’
‘You are quite amazing, do you know that?’ He drew her away from him, so he could look her in the eye. What she saw there filled her with warmth.
‘It is something I can do. Something useful. It is little enough, compared to what they all face down there. But …’
‘You are very like your father. You have his courage and his heart. He was right to bring you here.’ His eyes were glowing now, and the admiration turned to something else, something more …
Knowing, without a moment’s doubt or hesitation, what was going to happen next, she stood on tiptoe to meet his mouth half way. Then, as he branded her with his kiss, all thought slipped away.
It felt as if it had been forever since he had held her like this, kissed her like this. Too long. Now, all she wanted was to make up for lost time. There was a need growing inside her that had been building since they stood together by the furnace. Now it screamed at her for release. Whatever this wildness was that was within her would not be stopped.
But Byron was the first to come to some semblance of sanity. He pushed her gently away from him, as he drew in gasps of air. His hands trembled as they gripped her shoulders.
‘We cannot. You must get to safety, and I must do my duty here. They may be locked in, but that does not mean we are completely safe. And Bobby is an unknown. I have to keep an eye on him.’ He delivered his message between each laboured breath, as his shaking hands began to play with the loose tendrils of hair that fell on either side of her overheated face.
‘What can you do? You need to be safe, too. Come with me…’ Phil didn’t know where her brazenness came from. But in these moments, it felt like he was taking a feast away from a starving woman. She wanted him so desperately, her skin felt too tight to contain her flesh.
‘I stand guard, Phil. That is what I must do. If any escape, and it has happened, I must shoot the escapee. They cannot be allowed to leave the Keep.’
‘Shoot? You didn’t tell me that. You would shoot them? These people you shared a meal with. People you call friends?’ She was too stunned to guard her words, and she saw each one find their mark, as he flinched under her criticism.
‘They know and agree to what I have to do. They, even more than I, do not want to cause more harm. Death is preferable.’
Phil’s heightened emotions shifted quickly from arousal to horror. To think that Byron could shoot Ellen, if she somehow found her way out of that prison, seemed the worst kind of sin.
‘It will not happen, Phil. It is just a precaution. I have guarded this Keep for hundreds of nights, and there have been only a handful of times when I was forced to shoot. Please go to your room, and lock your door. Be safe for me. I need you to be safe.’ The pleading in his voice brought her back from the bad place she had gone. He was not talking of shooting a defenceless old lady, but a fearsome, ravening beast. It was what he had to do to keep the world safe.
Nodding her head, she turned slowly away and, taking up a lamp that stood on a table in readiness for her, she made her way up to her room. As the first howls filled the darkness, she climbed into her bed, and pulled the blankets over her head. Suddenly, it was all too much to bear.
She was surprised that she slept at all, but when she was drawn from her light doze by a sense of the approaching dawn, she quickly replaced her clothes, and headed downstairs. In the kitchen, she loaded the stove up with firewood, so that the burning embers had tinder, as she opened the flue to allow air to fan the damped-down fire. In minutes, the stove was blazing warmly, and she could set about preparing the already soaked oats for cooking.
As she put the large pot on the stove, Byron entered the kitchen. He looked exhausted, and his clothes were rumpled and dishevelled. Her heart went out to him.
‘It’s time. The sun has just come up,’ he said, without looking at her. She wondered if he was angry with her for what she had said the night before. It had been totally unfair of her to treat him like a cruel murderer, when all he wanted was to keep people safe. It was what he lived for.
‘I’m coming.’
As she joined him at the door to the cellar, she looked up into his shadowed face. It looked so lined and tired, as if he had aged ten years overnight. Without thinking, she reached up, and stroked his bristly cheek.
‘I am sorry for blaming you for what you must do. It was a shock, that is all. I am like a pendulum swinging backward and forward between extremes. One day, I want nothing more than to escape the monsters. The next, I want to care for them, and treat them like pets. I know both extremes are wrong. Forgive me?’
His eyes closed, as if he was savouring her words. Then he turned into her hand, and kissed her palm reverently. ‘I would forgive you anything, my dearest.’ And that first endearment seemed to shake them both to the core.
Byron drew back, stiffening. He seemed surprised by his own declaration. She took back her fingers, and looked away.
With a trembling hand, he pushed down the handle on the cellar door, and led the way down into the darkness.
Phil’s first impression as she entered the dungeons was of the heavy, feral odour of beasts crowded into a small space. The heat from the furnace Byron had kept going all night, added to the smell. Breathing through her mouth, she collected the clothing she had left at the bottom of the stairs, and headed down the tunnel.
The smell was stronger in the cell area, and she could see that some of the women had turned, and were lying naked on the stone floor, while others huddled in the corners of their cells, still in wolf form, their teeth bared in terrifying snarls. Then, before she had recovered from the shock of that sight, one by one, the last of the wolves dropped to their paws, and in seconds, were once more human.
She hurried to Ellen’s cell, and saw that the poor old lady was lying unconscious on the floor. Turning the lock hastily, she went in to assist her. But, as she approached, Ellen’s head shot up. She beared her gums at Phil, and growled.
Shocked and terrified, Phil dropped her pile of clothes on the floor, and backed out of the cell in a hurry. Her heart was racing, as she stood on the other side of the bars, watching the old lady move slowly to the pile of clothes. Phil remembered what Byron had said about what the wolves did to fabric if it was left in with them. Would Ellen tear the clothing to pieces?
Rather than rend the fabric into shred, the old lady began sorting through the garments, until she found her nightie. Then she turned her eyes up to meet Phil’s, and the wildness was gone. In its place was the woman she had come to know and like so much.
Ellen tried to speak, but all she could manage was a few guttural sounds. But it was clear from the way she held up the clothing that she was asking for Phil’s help. More cautiously this time, she entered the cell, and took the garment from the old lady. She dropped it over her head, helping her to get her arms into the sleeves. Then she eased the woman to her feet, and put the cushion on the bench so she could sit down in more comfort.
‘L..lock the door…’ Ellen managed to growl out, as Phil picked up the rest of the clothes, and left the cell. Phil looked back at her in stunned surprise. Why would she need to lock the door when the werewolf was now back in human form? But the snarl had unsettled her enough not to question. She turned the lock, and moved down the line, to offer clothing to the women who were now climbing unsteadily to their feet.
By the time she had delivere
d all the clothing, the air in the cavern had changed markedly. It still held a wildness, but it was masked by the scent of humanity, now.
Keen to get back to the porridge upstairs, she hurried toward the tunnel. She had not unlocked any of the cells, but Byron had told her he would do that. Having experienced Ellen as she came back to herself, she now understood why it might be necessary to keep the doors locked for a little longer.
By the time the first of the inmates started to filter up from the cellar, Phil had the porridge ready to be served. She transferred it to one of the serving pans that would hold heat on the sideboard, and carried it into the morning room. With a little humph of disgust, she realised she hadn’t warmed the coals in the sideboard. It was too late to do it now, and the porridge would be cold in a short time without it.
Lugging the pan back into the kitchen, she put it at the back of the warm stove. Then she went out to the morning room to see if anyone wanted porridge yet.
The room was empty and quiet. No one was coming in for breakfast. She frowned in consternation, and went to look for Byron. He was standing at the top of the stairs talking to Will.
‘Why is no one coming for breakfast?’ she asked, as she approached.
‘They will have gone to their rooms to wash and gather themselves. It may be a while before they start coming down to eat. I am sorry. I should have told you that.’ Byron was stiff and formal with her, and it stung after what they had shared a little less than an hour ago. He had called her his ‘dearest’. It may have been an accident, a slip of the tongue, but it meant something. Now he was acting as if it had never happened.
‘Ellen?’ She queried, with just the same level of stiffness.
‘Will has taken her up to her room. Mary will see to her, when she feels up to it.’
‘I could…’
‘We see to ourselves, m’lady, donna fash yourself on our account.’ Will snarled his words, and his Scottish burr was stronger than ever.
Byron shot him a cautionary scowl, and Will’s eyes became fierce. Phil could almost imagine him drawing back his lips, and growling at his friend, like Ellen had done to her. But after a moment, the ex-pugilist dropped his stance, and strode off.
‘Take no notice. It takes a little time for them to be fully back. Remember Charlotte at your bedroom door? They are all volatile now. I only let them out when I feel they are ready.
‘Will wasn’t ready.’
‘Yes he was. He is no danger now, except for a few snapping comments, which seem to be the way of it between you two.’
She had to agree. Except for the feral element to the encounter, Will had pretty much behaved as he always did with her.
‘I have time to get the coals heated then,’ she said, returning to the problem of the porridge, and the timing for breakfast. She hurried off back to the kitchen.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Phil put the bowl of hot porridge down in front of Bobby, and then rested her hand on his shaking shoulder. ‘Here is the breakfast I promised you.’
Bobby looked up at her with troubled eyes, and tried to smile his thanks. When he started to speak, the only sounds he could utter were guttural grunts. This seemed to upset him so much that he buried his head in his hands.
‘Oh Bobby, you will be back to normal in a little while. Just try to eat and relax. You made it through your first night. That is the important thing.’
‘It was awful!’ he finally managed to get out, and he stared up at her, with fear in his eyes. ‘You said it was like sleeping… but you don’t know… it feels like you’re dying. I… I can’t do that again. I can’t.’
She pulled out a chair, and sat down next to the young man. ‘Like dying? It hurt? They told me it didn’t hurt.’
‘No…’ Guttural sounds filled the space, while he tried to get control of his vocal cords again. When he was more confident, he went on. ‘Doesn’t hurt. But in those seconds when it’s happening, you feel like you’re dying. I was scared. More scared than the night that beast attacked me. I can’t do that again…’
She squeezed his arm in comfort. ‘It will get easier. The more often you do it, the more familiar it will become. Anything new can be unsettling at first.’
‘No Miss, you don’t get it. I can’t do it again. I won’t…’ And with that he slammed back his chair, and stormed out of the room.
Phil watched him leave, her heart in her throat. Was this just the residual wildness playing out, or was Bobby not handling this as well as he should? Had her advice made it harder for him to accept the change, than it would otherwise have been? After all, she’d made it sound like he just went to sleep. And that wasn’t all there was to it, was it?
She hurried off to find Byron, to report Bobby’s reaction. She found him in the study, his head resting on his arms, exhaustion written in every line of his body. For a moment, she paused in the doorway, unsure whether to bother him while he was taking a break. For all she knew, Bobby’s reaction could be perfectly normal, and nothing to worry about. Maybe she should just wait a while, and then go looking for the lad, to see if he had calmed down.
But something wasn’t sitting right for her. The way the lad had been so adamant about not going through it all again, rang a warning bell inside her head. After all, there was no choice: he couldn’t not go through the change again. It would happen, whether he wanted it to or not.
She moved quietly into the room, until she was standing at Byron’s side. His tousled black hair cried out to her to smooth it back. So soft and silky, it made her fingers twitch to feel it. And more than the touch, she wanted to give comfort. It had been a hard night for the man. Far harder than she had expected.
‘I can smell you,’ he said groggily, without lifting his head. ‘You smell like sunshine and roses.’
She laughed softly, and took the opportunity to do what she had been wanting to do – stroke his hair. At her first touch, he sighed. ‘We all smell like roses, thanks to Charlotte’s soap and rose water.’
‘No, not just that. It is distinctly you.’ He moved his head like a cat, inviting her petting.
‘You are so tired. Why don’t you go up to bed for a few hours. The danger is past…’
‘I will. I just… I am so tired, Phil,’ he caressed her name as he said it, drawing it out so it sounded French. Usually her name sounded boyish, and no nonsense. When Byron said it this way, it was as if she had the most feminine, romantic name in the world – the French word for girl – fille.
She leaned down, kissed the top of his head, and then pressed her cheek against his hair, breathing in the male scent of him. It was odd. She recognised his scent, just as he seemed to recognise hers. There had never been a time when she had ever been so conscious of her sense of smell. Since meeting Byron, it had become one of her most powerful senses.
‘Come with me…’ she whispered, sliding her hand down his arm until she found his hand. He took her fingers into his, and slowly sat up. His heavy lidded eyes looked up at her in question, and she smiled as she drew him to his feet. ‘Time to sleep, my dearest, you have done all you can for now…’
It seemed so natural to use the endearment he had used. And as he recognised what she had said, his eyes became soft and needy. He nuzzled into her neck, and kissed her gently, just below her ear. She sighed, and shifted so he had more access to the tender spot.
‘Bobby’s taken one of the horses,’ cried Jamey breathlessly, as he rushed into the study.
The couple drew apart, as surely as if a bucket of water had been thrown over them.
‘He said he wouldn’t go through it again. I actually came to tell you that I was worried about him…’ she offered quickly, blushing as she realised how she had been side-tracked from her concerns by her attraction to this man. There was no way she would be able to live with herself if her neglect caused anyone harm.
‘What did he say exactly?’ Byron demanded. All tiredness and softness was gone in an instant.
‘He said it was like
dying, and he didn’t want to go through it again. I thought he might still just be a bit wild, but it seemed more than that, so I came to tell you… It’s my fault. I had convinced him it was just like falling asleep.’
‘It probably is just residual wolf. You were good for him, Phil. Whatever you told him, it helped him get through that first time better than most. He will probably calm down soon, and come to his senses. But just to be sure…’ He turned from her to Jamey. ‘Get Will and Rupert, and have them meet me at the stables. We’ll ride out after him. He cannot have gone far. Probably home, if I do not miss my guess.’
Jamey was gone before he finished his last word, and Byron was on the move. All Phil could do was stand and watch him go, her mouth clamped shut over her fingers.
Over the next few hours, Phil was in a state of high anxiety. The men had not returned, and the rest of the residents were becoming unnerved by their absence. After a quick bite to eat at luncheon, she went to lie down, the exhaustion of her broken sleep, and the strain of the day, finally catching up with her. But, as soon as her head hit the pillow, she was wide awake again. All the worries of the day just multiplied, until they formed a savage loop of fear and concern that kept her system on high alert.
It was late afternoon before the riders returned. The soft knocking on her door brought her instantly to her feet. She prayed it was Bryon, back with good news. It had to be.
She opened the door to find Mary standing nervously outside, her head bowed. ‘Sorry to disturb you Miss, but Will asked me to get you.’
‘Will? What about Byron? Isn’t he back?’
‘No Miss, he didn’t get back. It’s just Rupert and Jamey that came back with Will. They had to. It’s getting late.’
‘Yes, of course. I’ll be right there.’
This was not good. Byron and Bobby not back? If Bobby turned out there, he would be deadly. Byron would have to kill him. Or worse, he might be attacked.
She stepped into her slippers, ran her fingers through her untidy hair, and made for the study where she knew she would find Will. Sure enough, as soon as she entered the large room, she saw Will standing at the window, his back a hard wall of tense muscle. Jasper was by his side, talking urgently, and Will was nodding.
