Secrets to Reveal

by Tilly Wallace

  Dougal approved of the location; he promptly leapt into the water after a duck. The terrier splashed around for a while, unable to find the bird, and then hauled himself out of the river. He had the good sense to shake himself out away from Aster before plopping down at her feet. She fretted that she had no blanket to offer the men to sit on. Their pale breeches would have grass stains when they stood up.

  “Don’t concern yourself, Miss Simmons,” Quinn said. “We are all quite used to getting dirty.”

  The others laughed, as though they shared some secret between them.

  She shook her head. Men got themselves dirty with no regard for getting clean, like Dougal jumping into the river without thinking how he would dry off afterward. “I’m not sure the maid who does your laundry will share the sentiment.”

  A frown crossed Quinn’s smooth face, and he looked down at his trousers. “I will apologise profusely when I hand them over to the laundress.”

  Aster laughed. Soon Alick appeared, clutching a delicious-smelling package. Dougal licked his lips and rushed to sit at the man’s side when he dropped to the grass. Alick unwrapped the paper and Aster was sure Dougal drooled, just a little, in anticipation. She couldn’t help but smile at her canine companion. He had a particular weakness for baked goods, which were a rare treat in their diet.

  Quinn also wore the look of a lad who would wolf down the entire parcel.

  “Oh, Mr Ferguson, if those are scones you may have a friend for life,” she said.

  The fierce-looking man scowled at the dog and drew the package closer to his chest, as though hiding it. “Is that so?”

  Dougal would not be cowed despite the man’s fierce appearance. He offered a paw, the limb dangling in the air as a gesture of friendship. Aster hid her smile behind her hand, waiting to see what would happen. After a long moment, Alick grunted and shook the foot. Then he broke off a piece of scone and tossed it to the dog. Watching him interact with Dougal made Aster soften her first impression of him. Perhaps there was more hiding behind the scar than people imagined. She remembered a fierce-looking old wolfhound from her childhood, that was all growl and no bite.

  Quinn laughed. “Giving in to puppies now?”

  “He did ask nicely, something you should remember,” Alick muttered, holding out the scones to Aster first.

  “Thank you.” She took the smallest one. The men all looked hungry, like they could devour one of their horses and still have room for more. She nibbled on a corner; it was quite delicious, and still warm from the oven. She cast her gaze around at the four men lounging in the sun. She knew there was a societal convention about light conversation in such situations. However, it was one thing to read of etiquette in a book, quite another to put into practice. She struggled for a topic to interest them.

  “Why don’t you ask your question, Miss Simmons?” Ewan turned his blue gaze to her.

  She swallowed. How did he know what swirled in her mind? Did he have the foresight that was conferred on those with diluted mage blood in their veins? “I’m not sure I understand, Lieutenant Shaw?”

  The tiniest twitch pulled one side of his full lips. “Most people are curious as to what misfortune befell Alick.”

  She glanced at the large man, who scowled and carried on eating his scone. Hamish’s shoulders heaved, as though he laughed at some old joke.

  “It would be rude to pry,” she said, keeping her eyes fixed on her scone.

  “It’s all right, lass,” Alick said. “We were in a tight spot and someone tried to cleave my head in two with an axe.”

  She frowned. That didn’t make sense. “Your captain said you have been stationed in Edinburgh since the inception of the Highland Wolves.”

  Alick blew out air and then chewed on more scone. His pale gaze flicked to his captain.

  “It was a skirmish in Ireland a few years ago, before the Wolves. The incident turned ugly,” Hamish said.

  “Aye,” Alick agreed. “Hamish hauled me backward as the man struck—as you can see, he almost missed.”

  Emboldened by Hamish’s safe presence, she peered closer. “You are lucky you did not lose your eye.”

  “The surgeons say there was only a hair’s width to it. Lucky Hamish had my back. Just wish he’d grabbed me sooner. I suspect he did it because he’s jealous that I’m the better looking one in our family. He thought I would be maimed.” He rolled his eyes.

  “The blow improved your appearance. And you always blame me,” Hamish said. “Perhaps next time you won’t stick your head in the way of an axe-wielding maniac.”

  "Are you related?" Aster asked. There didn't appear to be much resemblance apart from the fiery tint to their hair.

  "Cousins," Alick replied with a wink.

  The men had an easy way between them, and the more she thought on it, the more unusual it seemed. From what she observed at the Arsenal, officers kept to themselves and never fraternised with ordinary soldiers. “Are all Scottish military men this familiar with their captains?”

  Hamish held her gaze. “We’re on leave, and regardless of rank, I consider these men my friends, or family if you will. We are all brothers in arms. We all know how to follow the chain of command when on duty or in uniform.”

  She had so many questions about these men, and their captain in particular. Thoughts crowded her mind. “Tell me, gentlemen, how did you come to be in the army? Are you all second sons? Except for Mr Muir, whom I imagine has four older siblings, since his name has at its root the Latin for five or fifth.”

  Laughter rippled from Hamish and she knew she’d deduced correctly. Apart from that, the captain stayed intent on his scone, and her. She could feel his gaze upon her like the gentle caress of the spring breeze. For once she wished she possessed a fan; it was becoming quite warm. A slow flush travelled up her neck.

  “Quinn’s parents were awfully fond of each other, and his mother did go above and beyond her wifely duty,” Ewan said, his gaze locked on a small dingy being rowed up river. He had an off-hand manner, as though he sometimes forgot the world existed.

  Quinn shoved half a scone into his mouth and chewed as though he hadn’t seen a meal for some time. At least he swallowed before talking. “You are right, Miss Simmons, I have the misfortune to have four older brothers.”

  “That must have been chaotic growing up.” Aster couldn’t imagine having siblings. To have playmates always on hand, and noise to fill the long, silent hours; adventures to be had no matter where you were. At least with siblings you could escape to quiet moments. When you had none, every moment was silent, a void waiting to be filled.

  “We’re all second sons except Quinn and Hamish—who was, until unfortunate recent events made him the only son,” Alick answered.

  She laid a hand on Hamish’s arm. “I am sorry to hear that.”

  Hamish scowled at his friend as though he’d revealed a secret. “My older brother was to be earl, not I. Now my mother and father think I should leave the army and hurry home to Kinloch to bury myself in the responsibilities of an estate.”

  “You sound unhappy at that prospect.” She chewed her scone, but couldn’t fathom the man lounging at her side. Wouldn’t inheriting be something to celebrate? Obviously not too soon—he would want to mourn his brother for a suitable period. But the acquisition of a title would certainly make him more desirable on the marriage market. She assumed all nobles wanted to keep ascending the ranks of the ton.

  His gaze darkened. “I joined the army when I turned seventeen to see the world and fight. I was never meant to be tied to a desk or to sit in a hall hearing petty disputes.”

  Well, this was interesting—a lord who didn’t want an earldom. “Many a man would be delighted to be called earl. It is a certain entrée to society.” Wasn’t that what nobles wanted? To be richer or more important? To have people bow and scrape as they walked past, while nubile women fell at their feet? Although, to be fair, she had literally thrown herself at the captain, although entirely by accident, when
she fell from the ladder. But she couldn’t say she regretted him catching her. Images of his strong arms around her waist still woke her up some nights.

  Ewan reclined in the weak heat of the spring sun. The handsome man was mostly still and silent, only rarely dropping a comment into the flowing conversation. “Titles are viewed differently in Scotland. They are not just a source of ready income and access to society. A Scottish laird is connected to the land, and has a great responsibility to his people.”

  Hamish nodded. “Exactly. I am not ready to be weighed down with the problems of others. I have enough dealing with this lot.”

  She frowned. “But is a title so very different from your responsibility as captain? Both require a care for the well-being of those who serve under you.”

  “Being captain is different; most of it involves following orders. I do not have to sort out people’s lives and who stole whose goat.” He leaned on one elbow and pulled apart his scone.

  She shook her head and laughed. “You strike me as a somewhat intelligent man. Are you telling me you follow orders blindly? Do you not think for yourself or consider the impact your orders will have on those around you?”

  “We are at war, Miss Simmons, and soldiers follow orders. There are times when our lives depend on it, for we do all we must to protect this Empire.” His gaze lingered on her face, and he kept his serious tone. “While you have been questioning us, you have been quiet about your family. Do you have many siblings, or are your parents still alive? I am reassured, seeing you out here in the sunlight without any steam rising from you, that you are not in fact a French vampyre.”

  Now it was her turn to look uncomfortable with the questions. Should she obey his directive? What if he sought to command her to do other things? The heat flared anew, and she took a deep breath. This was why she kept to herself. Amongst polite company, her mind ran away and found scandalous thoughts to distract her, quite at odds with her mousy exterior. “No. I am alone in the world; hence my need for employment.”

  “An unusual choice of occupation. Most gently-bred women turn to being governesses or companions,” Hamish said.

  “I tried being a governess once. It did not end well. I am not suited to monitoring children. They are so… chaotic.” The truth was, the children concerned ran riot and locked her in a cupboard. Her employment had lasted only two weeks.

  “But the Arsenal is no fit place for a lady—unless you are a mage or some other Unnatural creature?” Quinn finished his scone and took another.

  “I have no unnatural abilities, unless you consider my ability to wrestle order from mountains of paperwork.” They kept referring to her as a lady, but a lady was born in wedlock, something she was not. “It is lucky that I am no lady. There are few options for a woman with no family or talents. Am I to stand on a street corner and beg? God gave me a mind; why should I not be able to use it to earn my living? A man may leave home and join the army or seek his fortune, but a woman is expected to work on her back.”

  Alick’s brow darkened. “No one expects a gently-bred woman to become a bobtail.”

  She laughed at that. “That is not even what I meant. Is not birthing children also work? Both start the same way, and at least the prostitute is paid and free to do as she pleases with the money she earns.”

  Alick scowled. Even a brave man might have run under his stern regard, but Aster met his gaze. They had the easier path in life, even without titles and fortunes. Let them try to survive in a lone woman’s shoes. The scarred man dropped his gaze and tossed more scone to an eternally grateful Dougal.

  Hamish laughed. “Miss Simmons has a quick wit, Alick. I don’t think you will better her. You’d better concede defeat now.” He took her hand and kissed her palm. “I don’t think the world is yet ready for women to seek employment and independence. Even the women mages are under the control of either their husbands or fathers.”

  She stared at her hand in his. Yet again he had scrambled her thoughts with the smallest touch, and she struggled to remember her point. “More’s the pity, Captain. Perhaps there will come a day when women are no longer controlled by men and they may fully embrace their power, whatever it may be.”

  The rest of the afternoon passed in light conversation. She let the men talk between themselves, and she found herself more often silent than vocal. There was something immensely pleasurable in letting them talk around her, for she was still included, even when she had nothing to say. There was something brotherly about their banter, perhaps merely the result of long months and close quarters. As the sun started to sink in the sky, she rose and shook out her skirts.

  “I thank you gentlemen for the pleasure of your company, but Dougal and I must be getting home.”

  They all stood, and Dougal ran around, excited that more walking was on offer.

  “Let us walk you home,” Hamish said.

  That made her heart freeze. She did not want them to know where she laid her head at night. Would they also judge her home on the neglected state of its garden rather than the warmth of its kitchen? “I’m quite fine on my own, thank you. It is not yet dark.”

  Hamish took her hand, and with the other he tipped her face to him. “I’m sure you are quite capable on your own should you meet a shade or wight, but that does not mean another cannot walk beside you and share your company.”

  Oh, blast. He had done it again.

  Hamish

  He sent the others back to the house while he walked with Aster. The wolf needed to see her safely to her door. Dusk was a powerful magnet for Unnatural creatures as they crawled through the veil to wreck mischief in the world.

  As they turned down a smaller road, she stopped half way along and held up a hand. “I will say goodbye here, Captain Logan.”

  He knew when he was being dismissed. He would allow her this small concession; instead he took her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Until we meet again, Miss Simmons.”

  She nodded, and he watched her figure walk down the road, the little dog by her side. The houses here were spaced widely apart, with surrounding gardens showing varying degrees of care. A few were well-maintained, while several were overgrown. The neighbourhood had an air of shabby disregard: not quite neglected, but as though the residents knew they should do more, but could not marshal the effort or resources. Aster turned up the path of a house long overdue to have its walls scrubbed and the garden tended. A woman like Aster Simmons shouldn’t be living there, unless this was part of her guise. He was no closer to discovering who she was, or why she worked so closely with Sir John.

  He shook his head and headed back to town, where his horse waited for him. Throughout the ride home, he maintained an internal argument with himself. Part of him claimed he showed interest in the girl simply to pull back her façade and reveal the truth. His mission was to protect England against foreign agents fighting a clandestine war. To do that, he had to determine if she played a part in that war. Another part of him whispered that his intentions were more personal. Aster Simmons stirred something deep within him that had been brought to life by the lycanthrope’s blood. He longed for a woman to walk life’s road at his side. A very particular type of woman, who challenged both his mind and body.

  His wolf yearned for something the man couldn’t quite articulate. Not yet.

  The more time he spent with Aster the deeper his fascination ran, like following a vein of copper far into the earth to find the buried riches other men failed to see. There were layers to her and he planned to pull them back, one by one. His body stirred at the thought of divesting her of all external layers, and of other examinations to be had. The wolf grumbled but was content to remain hidden for now, just so long as he continued to see Aster and feed its need to be near her.

  He walked the horse around to their stables and saw to his gelding’s needs. Putting away the tack and brushing down the animal soothed his mind. That part of him hadn’t changed when he’d signed on for the Wolves. As he ran strong strokes ov
er the horse’s coat, his internal battle still raged, and he was no closer to discerning his own motivation. He did at least admit that he hoped her position in the Records Office was pure coincidence. If she were a French agent, there was no future for the lass. At best she would rot in a military jail; at worst, her life was forfeit. If she were innocent—well, he was very interested in discussing her future path and the direction it might take.

  Tasks done, he carried on to the house. As usual, the others assembled in the front drawing room, which was starting to resemble a gentleman’s club, mainly because of the haze from Alick’s cigars and the number of decanters now lined up on the sideboard. The illegal whisky they’d brought with them had pride of place among the crystal containers. The heavy drapes were half-pulled against the fading light, which added to the closed-in atmosphere.

  He dropped on a sofa and stretched his arms along the back. “Well, now you’ve all met her, what do you think?”

  Alick handed him a short glass of uisge beatha, the ‘water of life’. Or it could be liquid fire, the way it lit a path down his gullet. “She’s too smart. No good ever came of a smart woman.”

  “But that doesn’t make her a French spy.” Quinn came to her defence. “Nor did she smoulder in full sunlight, so we can also cross vampyre off our list.”

  “She has no family that we can discern, no ties or connections, and she is intelligent. She also seems adept at deflecting questions once they intrude on her personal life. I would say those factors, taken together, would make her a most excellent spy.” Ewan examined his fingernails as he offered his opinion. “I have asked at the Paymaster’s Office, and A. Simmons’s wages are drawn and delivered by Sir John.”

  “Do they know A. Simmons to be a man or woman?” he mused.

  Ewan arched one black eyebrow. “All enquiries we made were met with confusion. No one has ever given the question any thought, but they assumed that A. Simmons is male in gender. It would appear your secretary is something of a wraith, with few known sightings. Is it possible she is mage-blooded and concealing her existence from others?”