The face of an ordinary man who hid from the light and possessed an unnatural ability with a blade. A man who much preferred the shadows and who had just returned from Europe. Forge.
If he were a French vampyre, then somehow Hamish’s wolf had missed the scent. A mistake he would never repeat. It was no great leap for him to consider the man a traitor. Something about Forge had never sat right. But he needed proof before he set his wolf free. And he needed to find Aster, Alick, and Sir John. If his suspicions proved true, he would hunt Forge to the ends of the earth and tear his throat out if he had harmed so much as a hair on Aster’s head. He turned his attention back to the poor souls at his feet.
“Have you asked around? Did anyone see anything this morning?” Blast it. He knew the futility of such a task. It was part of his original assignment to have a care for Sir John. He and his men had surveyed the building and its location, and watched the comings and goings of both the Royal Arsenal and the neighbouring road. The Records Office was located in an isolated corner of the base, and across the road were fields. The road itself was constantly piled with carts, wagons, and carriages. There was nothing to remark upon or see, unless they had carried Aster out kicking and screaming.
“No one else works in this building, and the rest of it is used as storage. There was nobody in here to see anything, except these two.” Captain Fielding gestured at the dead soldiers. “I have men searching for Sir John and his secretary, but it’s the weirdest thing—not a single man can recollect what Simmons looks like. It’s as though the mages have cloaked his presence.”
“Possibly, but to what ends? The man was never here when I called,” Hamish uttered the small white lie to deflect the obvious question before it came and he was forced to give a larger lie to a fellow officer. “From what I understand they kept to themselves here.” Hamish ran a hand through his hair, tugging on the strands and using the prick of pain to centre himself.
How deep did Aster’s involvement go? With each passing hour, it became harder to imagine her presence as mere coincidence. What bothered him was that Sir John was complicit in concealing her sex, but to what end? Nothing made sense; there was no order to draw from this chaos.
“Keep me informed if you hear anything.” Hamish walked back outside. He needed the fresh air—and to shed his human skin, but they were supposed to use this mission to prove they were civilised, not rabid dogs. His gaze scanned the surrounding countryside. One problem solved itself when Alick wandered across the road, leading his mount. He rubbed a hand over his head, looking dazed.
“What happened?” he asked as he approached Hamish and raised an eyebrow at the sea of red uniforms.
“I was about to ask you the same thing. Sir John and Aster are missing, and two dead soldiers lie within. Where were you?”
The big man shook himself. “I had a great spot across the road under a tree, until some bastard crept up behind and sconed me over the head. I just came to and noticed everyone hanging around here.”
Hamish blew out a whistle between tight lips. Someone knew he and his men were watching the building. Random coincidences knitted together to form a net around his suspected turncoat.
“Lucky they didn’t slit your throat.” He grabbed Alick’s head and inspected the wound. Blood marred the enormous lump. Another stroke of luck for Alick that he was a lycanthrope. The blow would have killed an ordinary man. Which meant their prey didn’t know of their Unnatural state; otherwise they would have finished the job while Alick was down and merely presumed dead.
“How did they manage to creep up on you?” Hamish asked.
“I think they were cloaked somehow. I never smelt a thing.” He rubbed his head and stared at the blood on his fingertips.
“French sorcery is afoot.” Hamish swore under his breath.
“What happened to Quinn and Ewan?” Alick asked.
Hamish waved a hand to the west at distant London. “Dealing with the magistrate and runners. A vampyre murdered Harry last night.”
Alick swore under his breath. “Some bastard’s been busy.”
“I suspect more than one. Someone killed soldiers inside with a blade while another tried to bash your head in.” Worry built in his gut for Aster. Where are you, my star? Then a familiar bark from nearby drew his attention.
“Dougal?” he called, and crouched down to see the world from a small dog’s point of view. An answering yap came, and the little terrier hurtled from under a cart. He picked up the excited dog and ruffled his head. “Where have you been, lad, and more importantly, what did you see?”
The dog kept his own counsel and Hamish wished the change he had undergone allowed him to commune with other canines. Dougal’s presence raised more questions. Given he normally trotted after Aster, why was he not with his mistress? Or had something happened to her that meant he couldn’t follow? The chill overflowed from his heart and spread down his limbs.
“Where to now?” Alick asked as he followed Hamish to his horse.
“The boarding house. Let’s first see if Aster turned up there.” He had to push aside his feelings and think logically if they were to find those responsible. He placed Dougal in front of his saddle. The terrier perched and surveyed the world from on horseback, his tongue lolling to one side of his jaws as they cantered down the road. This was turning into a game of chase with no end in sight, but at least the dog was enjoying himself.
At the house, Hamish leapt from the horse and threw his reins over the picket fence. Then he grabbed Dougal and marched up the weed-strewn path. He banged on the boarding house door so loudly it rattled in its frame.
Loud muttering came from within before the landlady opened the door and scowled at him. She cast a look at him and Alick, startling at his scarred face. “No gentlemen callers.”
She moved to shut the door, and Alick reached out one large hand and pressed on the wood to keep it open. He gave his idea of a grin, letting just a little of his wolf show in his extended canines, which made the woman take a startled step backward, lest the savage attack her.
“I need to know if Aster is here. I found Dougal on his own and I became concerned,” Hamish said, the dog wiggling under his arm. ‘Concerned’ didn’t even begin to cover the feeling rioting in his gut. Until the sight of the destroyed office, he hadn’t realised how deeply she’d burrowed under his skin in the short time they had known one another. His wolf wouldn’t rest until she was safe in his arms, and he’d be damned if he would give her up. Assuming she’s not a traitor, a tiny voice whispered.
The woman’s scowl dropped away and she held out her hands. “I’ll take the pup. Aster asked me to look after him for a couple of days. Said he had run off chasing rabbits and she couldn’t spare the time to find him.”
“You’ve seen her? When? What did she say?” He resisted the urge to grab the woman by the throat and shake the information from her frame.
“She came home in a hurry about midday. Said she received urgent notice of a sick relative and she’d be gone a couple of days.” She shook her head but kept her gaze on Dougal.
Hamish exchanged looks with Alick, but some instinct told him to keep hold of the terrier.
“Thank you. I’ll keep Dougal. I plan to visit Aster and she’ll want to know he is found. Did she say where she was headed or leave a message for me?” He tried to sound light—no reason to worry the woman unnecessarily. That Aster had hurried home, and then lied to explain her absence, was important. If only he knew the reason why.
A brief smile flitted over the landlady’s lips. Perhaps a sliver of sympathy for a suitor left with no words to reassure him. “No. Funny thing, I didn’t think she had any family. She looked awfully pale, too. Whatever news she got must have been quite a shock. She did say to tell you that she would return as soon as she was able.”
“Thank you,” Hamish said. Then he motioned to Alick and they let the woman shut the door. They trooped back down the path and stood by the side of the road. He stared back at the h
ouse as he gathered his thoughts.
“Damn it,” he muttered. There was too much he didn’t know. Had Aster escaped whatever happened to Sir John in the office, or was she playing her own part in his disappearance? Why did she say she was visiting a sick relative when she had none, instead of raising the alarm?
Hamish didn’t know. She wanted him to know she would return when she could, and his gut said she was innocent but caught up in something beyond her control.
“Where to now?” Alick took his horse’s reins and waited.
“I need to take this higher up at the War Office. Our superior needs to be informed.” And he didn’t mean their colonel in Edinburgh. They needed to see the man who oversaw the war effort, who controlled the flow of secret intelligence for England, and who pulled strings across Europe. The man who oversaw Harry Wilkes, the spymaster. He needed to make his way to the war secretary’s office, and the man wasn’t going to like what he had to say.
He also needed his wolf under control. Barging into the War Office snarling and drooling with angry yellow eyes would see the Unnatural Act defeated in parliament.
“First I need to run. I have Aster’s scent and I can find where she might have gone. Follow me; I don’t want to end up shot. Take Dougal. I have a feeling he has a role to play yet in finding Aster.” Hamish started to strip off his clothing, heedless of the fact they were in the street out front of the boarding house. He pulled off his shirt and stuffed it into his horse's saddle bags, then shifted to his wolf form before Alick could comment.
He closed his eyes and inhaled, looking for any trace of Aster’s rich fragrance. There. He found it. With a short snarl to Alick, he was off to find her.
He ran with his muzzle close to the ground, picking up her unique fragrance. Nutmeg and heather, things that immediately conjured thoughts of hearth and home, of family and love. Along the streets he followed her. Aster once said she walked the earth with a light tread and left no footprint. But that wasn’t true. He would always find her. A wolf would always scent its mate.
They veered close to town and the bustle of activity. Hamish was vaguely aware of startled pedestrians, shouts and cries, but he relied on Alick at his back to ensure no one trained a rifle on the escaped wolf.
Aster’s scent stopped at the river. He paced up and down the bank, trying to pick her up over the salt and odour of rotten fish. Nothing. She had vanished across the water. He howled his frustration at the river and sat on his haunches.
When Alick approached and threw him a shirt he shifted back. “She took to the water. London perhaps?” He quickly dressed and pulled on his boots. “Let’s see if the others are back at the house yet.”
15
Aster
* * *
For the first time Aster could remember, it was the dawn light through the curtains that woke her instead of noxious Dougal-breath. A sharp pang sliced through her chest. She had never imagined she would miss his hideous morning routine. The book was tucked on the pillow next to her head, the chain holding the brass button tangled through her fingers, and her skin felt tight from dried tears.
She stretched, and decided self-pity was something best left to the midnight hours. During the day she had far too much to do to indulge in tears over lost opportunities and impossible daydreams of Hamish. For surely that was all the ache in her heart was—the space left after the removal of the delusion that she could have had something with him.
Aster poured water from the pitcher into the ewer and washed her face, then scrubbed the rest of her skin. Once satisfied, she pulled on her dress and slipped out the door.
“Cup of tea, love?” Betsy called out as she stepped into the main room, wiping her hands on a towel.
“That would be lovely, thank you.” She didn’t think her stomach would cooperate with breakfast just yet. “I’ll just nip out for the newspaper and I’ll be back shortly.”
“I’ll have it waiting at your table.” Betsy threw the towel over her shoulder and headed out to the kitchen.
Out on the street, noise and activity assaulted Aster’s senses. She’d never realised people could be so loud until you crammed carts, horses, dogs, children, and hundreds of people into a narrow road. The tall buildings leaned inward and seemed to push the chaos back down to street level, rather than letting it escape up into the sky. She glanced around until she spied an urchin with the daily under his arm. She passed him a coin, and he held out a newspaper with a big gappy grin where his two front teeth were missing. She hastened back to the tavern and found a pot of tea waiting for her. She spread out the paper and then took a moment to pour a cup. Perhaps that would settle her stomach.
The first few pages were the usual articles about the latest sally by Napoleon and badly-behaving members of the ton. She understood keeping the public abreast of the war, but she wasn’t quite sure why drunken lords were newsworthy. They should be ashamed of themselves, tumbling into fountains or being discovered asleep under rose bushes.
Then there were articles about the Unnatural Act that was before parliament. It would give Unnaturals the same rights as any other Englishmen. Debate raged on both sides of the arguments. One side said they were animals that should be either exterminated or caged. The other argued they had as much right as anyone so long as they obeyed English laws. Aster didn’t care how Hamish was afflicted—she wanted him just the way he was.
Flicking over the pages, she scoured the advertisements, searching for the coded message to tell her the events were a ruse, a game to test her preparedness, and she could return to the Arsenal. She read and re-read every advertisement until her tea went cold.
Nothing. She sighed and pushed the cup away. Now what to do? Perhaps, like making the book reveal its secret, she needed to go back to the beginning? Instead of scanning the news items, she read every one, just in case.
It was the tiny article on page six that made her bite back a sob.
Deaths at the Royal Arsenal. While our brave troops are used to risking their lives on the battlefields of Europe in the fight against Britain’s enemy, death has stalked two while undertaking training in Woolwich. Two soldiers were discovered dead in one of the Arsenal’s outbuildings. An investigation has been launched as to whether the deaths were accidental or deliberate.
Aster’s fingers tightened on the page until the paper gave way and ripped. She bit her lip to stifle the cry trying to burst free of her throat. What had she done? She’d sent those men to their deaths. And what of Sir John? There was no mention of a third death. She hoped he had escaped. Somehow. She drew deep breaths to steady her shaking hands. She needed to think. What would Sir John tell her to do?
Work calmly and logically. Start at the beginning. She couldn’t risk seeking help, even from Hamish, until she knew who was safe to approach. She had to decipher the list. To do that, she needed time and solitude. She would adhere to Sir John’s original suggestion and head for the cottage. Its remote location would give her the peace and quiet she needed, but she could still purchase a newspaper in the village to check for news.
With a plan in her mind, she headed upstairs and packed her bag, tucking the volume of the Iliad next to Sense and Sensibility. Her fingers found the chain around her neck, and she caressed the button. Silly, perhaps, but she needed the reassurance of the token. Her fingers sought the feel of the brass when anxiety threatened to overwhelm her. It might not bring Hamish to her, but it could act as a talisman and imbue her with a little of the captain’s strength.
She thanked Betsy for her hospitality and walked to a staging post to wait for a carriage east. Her stash of coins needed to last, so Aster paid for a seat up top rather than inside. Not only was it cheaper to ride up with the driver, it was far nicer. The spring day bloomed warm, and she didn’t want to be crammed in against sweaty armpits for her journey. How she wished for her parasol, but she had left it in her room at the boarding house.
She gave thanks that there was a carriage heading in her direction today, and
she had little more than an hour to wait. Her gaze constantly flicked to the passing crowd as she looked for the men she’d seen in Sir John’s office. Were they even now scouring London for her? She just hoped Dougal was safe with Mrs Roberts. She would be away longer than planned, but the terrier would at least earn his keep by munching his way through the rat problem that plagued the neighbourhood.
Soon the large, heavy carriage arrived and eager passengers clambered inside while Aster hung back. Seeing the six people in the small interior made her even more grateful she’d decided to ride outside. Their luggage was loaded up top and roped down, then the driver helped Aster up and she took her seat. The horses’ hooves rang out on the cobbles as they headed out of London. The swarm of people gradually diminished, and buildings were soon replaced by fields and houses.
The journey to Lowestoft, the easternmost tip of England, was a hundred and thirty miles—too far for the stagecoach to undertake in one day, even changing the horses every twenty miles. They halted for the night at Colchester, and Aster climbed down on shaky legs. Her bones had absorbed every bump and rattle, amplified up through the carriage’s structure. She longed for a bath, but doubted she would find one in the little inn. Nor did she want to spend the money to purchase one.
Too weary to offer up any conversation, she sat at the end of a long table while the inn provided a meal for all the passengers. Unfortunately, she discovered she had to share a room with a rather noisy matron. The woman’s loud snores rattled around the room, but at least it meant she wasn’t alone, and her body fell into sleep as soon as she pulled the blanket up over her ears. She kept Hamish’s button clasped in her hand.
The next day dawned early, the driver wanting to get away at sun-up for the next leg. They stopped twice along the way, for the passengers to stretch their legs and take hurried comfort stops behind what trees they found. When they finally rolled into Lowestoft, Aster breathed a sigh of relief. Her fellow travellers were an assortment of farmers and minor merchants who had business elsewhere, and the older matron was headed further north to stay with her son. There were no foreign agents amongst them. Well, not that she recognised—but surely an agent would have lured her off to a darkened spot by now?
Secrets to Reveal Page 15
