Secrets to Reveal

by Tilly Wallace

  “The list,” she murmured, leaning into his palm.

  He stopped the caress and stared into her eyes, his hazel gaze filled with concern. “Aster, my star, your life is in grave danger if you have knowledge of it.”

  The sigh broke free of her chest. “I not only know about it, I possess it, and I broke their code.”

  His gaze turned to one of amazement. “Clever woman. The war secretary said you were exceptional. I shall protect you from them with my life.” He continued to kiss every inch of skin exposed to him. His mouth trailed down her neck as far as her dress allowed and then back up again.

  Thoughts swirled around in Aster’s mind a thousand at a time, and she struggled to pluck just one from the rising turmoil to give voice. “But you still haven’t told me how you found this place if the enchantment holds.”

  He dropped another row of kisses along her cheek. “I used non-magical methods and discovered Sir John left you a cottage in Lowestoft. I thought to stop in the village to ask for directions, but once Dougal’s feet hit the ground, he took off as though his tail was on fire. I assumed he knew where he was going, so I simply followed.”

  She frowned. One fact in his narration made no sense. “What do you mean Sir John left me the cottage?”

  Hamish’s gaze froze, and his hands dropped to her waist. “He left you the cottage in his will.”

  Her face froze as his words registered. “His will? But that means—”

  A sob choked off her breathing as she doubled over. Oh God. He was dead and it was all her fault.

  Hamish caught her as she collapsed. He swept her into his arms and carried her to the weathered oak seat tucked under the lee of the cottage’s roof, where he sat down and drew her against his chest. Cries wracked her body as she clung to him. She’d only found Sir John two years ago, and now her cowardice had taken him away. First she’d destroyed her mother’s life by being conceived, and now her inaction had stolen her father.

  “What happened, Aster? Did you see the men who took him that day?” He stroked her hair as she cried and asked his question in a soothing tone, as though speaking to a spooked horse.

  She drew in a deep breath and tried to still the sobs. “Yes. Sir John asked me to come here for a month. He thought events were becoming too dangerous.” What irony. Perhaps they should have both fled. If she had suggested the quiet of the cottage to work on the code together, he might still be alive.

  “He asked me to do some tidying before I left. He did like his office just so. I had put on my apron, to protect my clothes, and was dusting when three men entered the office.” She shuddered at the memory. Menace had rolled off the men from just their stance, something no spell could cloak.

  “Did they know who you were?” Hamish asked.

  “No. They thought me the maid. They asked for Simmons. Sir John told me to go fetch him. I said he was dining in the mess with the soldiers.” Those were the last moments she’d had with her father. He had sent her away to protect her, knowing the danger that stood in his office.

  “His quick thinking saved your life, Aster. If they’d had any inkling Simmons was you, your life would have been forfeit too.” His arm tightened around her, and he held her as firmly as the cliff embraced the cottage.

  She didn’t see the events that way; she only saw her failure, which had cost men their lives. “One of the men followed me, but he baulked at entering the mess. I escaped through the kitchens on the other side. Sir John and I had discussed what to do if his position was compromised. He said not to trust anyone in authority, that we could not know who was turned. That was why I sent the soldiers to the office. I said he needed help to move a heavy item, and I sent them to their deaths.”

  Another sob wracked her body. She stared at her hands and saw only the blood of the innocent lives spilled in her escape. Could she ever scrub away the taint, or would she carry the weight of their deaths until her own claimed her?

  “Those men were armed soldiers, and they perished in that office. You could have done nothing, Aster.” He rubbed her back and held her tight.

  “I should have died instead of them.” What use was one lowly woman compared to two honourable soldiers?

  “No.” Hamish snapped out the word. He placed a hand under her chin and turned her face to him. She found his hazel gaze alive with fire. “Don’t ever say that. Do you think those soldiers could have deciphered the list? How many lives will be saved by the work you have done here?”

  It all seemed so pointless. So many things in life were fleeting, gifted one day and snatched away the next. She was tired of living a quiet life, anonymous and lonely. Hamish stirred feelings in her that she wanted to pursue, today, now, in case the sun never broke over the horizon tomorrow. She didn’t care if he were a wolf or a hedgehog, she wanted him.

  “I don’t want to be the mousey clerk surrounded by papers anymore, or an old lonely spinster. I want to be a woman.” She grabbed his jacket and tugged it from his shoulders while kissing his neck.

  “Make love to me, Hamish. Please. Teach me all I have been missing in life. Show me how to live.” She scrabbled at his clothing, trying to pull his shirt from his trousers. Her kisses became frantic, fevered, as she convinced herself it was live or die. If she could not have this moment, then what was the point? She needed to feel Hamish’s touch, instead of the weight pressing on her soul.

  Hamish grabbed her manic hands and held them to his chest. “Aster.”

  “Please. Take me, I give myself to you. I want to live. I need to feel.” She pressed herself to him, urgency and sorrow making her chest heave. She jerked her hands desperately, trying to get free, trying to touch him, to reassure herself that she lived. “Please, I don’t want to die. Help me to live,” she whispered.

  “No, lass.” He held her away from him.

  Despair crashed over her and pulled her under. “Oh God. I am a fool. You do not want me, you only came here in pursuit of the list.” Fresh tears fell down her face as her shoulders shook. She tore her hands free and buried her face in them. Her father was dead and the one man she loved was rejecting her. She could not look at him, could not bear to see her humiliation reflected in his kind gaze.

  “Aster, my star,” he whispered. Then he reached out and placed a finger under her chin and raised her tear-stained face. “Wanting you is not the issue. Be assured, I want you very much. But this is not the time. Not like this. Much has happened over the last few days, and I have brought you news that your father is dead. Now is your time to grieve for him, lass.”

  She shook her head, trying to hold back the dam as Hamish gathered her close again and rubbed her back. She spiralled into darkness as the ocean beyond the cliff called for her to leap into its embrace. Life had stolen both her parents, and she was truly alone with no reason to go on, apart from Dougal. “You truly want me, not the names?”

  He kissed her fingertips. “Truly, Aster. I would have found you, list or no list. But we can talk about that later. Now is the time to let it go, all of it. Cry, Aster. It’s just the two of us here.”

  He cared for her. Relief at hearing those words were the final blow to the dam inside her. Pressure welled up in her chest until she thought she would explode. A lifetime of despair and rage at the unfairness of random chance collided with the grief of hearing her father was dead. Her body heaved as the tears flowed down her face and the sobs shook her body. Hamish simply held her, a rock that she clung to amid the torrent.

  At some stage he carried her inside to the bed and curled his larger body around her. Eventually she exhausted herself. Her body stilled as the sobs subsided. Warmth cocooned her, and she slipped into sleep without even noticing where she was.

  21

  Aster

  * * *

  Despite the devastating news, Aster awoke with a sense of peace flowing throughout her soul. Like a flood can cleanse a river of the detritus clogging its bottom, her tears had set free her worries and cleared her mind. She had all her years t
o come to grieve for her father, and she would always miss his presence in her life, but the first raw edge of pain was numbed just a fraction. The wave of despair receded enough to let her breath and think.

  Becoming aware of her surroundings, Aster found she was overheated on two different levels. Hamish held her close, and the Scotsman seemed to have an unnaturally high body temperature. He was like cuddling up to a heated stone—or was that a wolf thing because he was stuffed full of fur? Which presented the second reason for her flushed body: she was in Hamish’s embrace, her slight curves moulded to his hard planes. A small part of her mind whispered that if there were less clothing, she would be less heated—or would that escalate the problem?

  She needed the cool ocean breeze before she expired or stripped naked, and she wasn’t entirely sure which was the better option. She squirmed, but he held her tight, as though he expected her to slip through his grasp.

  Hamish opened his eyes as she roused. His lazy appraisal did nothing to solve her internal temperature problem, and the hungry way he regarded her made just one word leap to her mind—wolf. He raised one eyebrow as she sought to extricate herself from his arms.

  “I need to go outside,” she said. He loosened his grip, and she slid off the end of the bed.

  She took care of a pressing call of nature, then stood at the top of the cliff. She loved watching the ocean, with the play of waves and crested peaks as birds skimmed the water. Dougal yapped and bounced down the steps to indulge in his favourite pastime of seagull chasing.

  Hamish slipped his arms around her waist and drew her back against him. “You seem calmer.”

  She raised a hand behind her to touch his hair, then turned and pulled his head to hers for a brief kiss before letting him go. “Yes. Thank you. There will be time to mourn him properly once we find those responsible.”

  He laid his cheek against the top of her head and they stood in silence, watching the last rays of the sun dance over the ocean as dusk approached. The water turned to liquid gold, igniting a path that ran into the horizon. The lone wight was back, skimming the waves like a bird in search of small fish.

  “Will you tell me what happened and how it came to be that Sir John was your father? You said your father died before you were born.” Hamish spoke against her hair, his words whispering over her scalp and then cast out to the ocean.

  “He did, and yet he did not. The revelation was a surprise to both of us.” She smiled as she remembered that day. The joy of finding her father had been punctuated by the agony of knowing that her mother had spent her life grieving for him, and yet he lived. All those wasted years they should have spent together, loving one another.

  Hamish pulled her to the nearby bench, made of ancient oak. For decades it had withstood every storm that rolled off the ocean. He kept his arm about her, and she nestled against his side. The overwhelming grief pulled back and left her mind fresh in its wake.

  “How did you come to be in the Records Office?” he asked.

  “My mother died when I was fifteen, and for two years I tried hard to be a governess or companion, but few people would hire a young girl. One cold night with nowhere to go, I was contemplating selling myself, when an elderly gentleman dropped a parcel. When I returned it to him we struck up a conversation. He realised that I could read, and that I was not afraid of him. He was an injured mage and many people shunned him. He offered me employment and I acted as his secretary until I was twenty. His health declined to such a state that he knew his end was near. So he wrote me a most excellent letter of recommendation, which allowed me to apply for the job at the Records Office.” How long ago it seemed when she had lived hand to mouth, never knowing if she would find shelter or a meal. The old mage and Sir John changed all that. She was now a valuable asset of the War Office because of her ability with ciphers.

  “When I applied for the position I concealed my gender, writing only my initials on the application letter. Sir John then set a fiendish puzzle for the applicants. I was the only one to solve his riddle, and he offered me the position. I arrived in his office, and he just stared at me. He said one word—Lilly.”

  He had dropped his pen and risen, forgetting he only had one leg, and tried to walk toward her without his cane. He had toppled over and Aster had rushed to assist.

  “I shook my head and said, ‘No, I am Aster Simmons. Lilly was my mother.’ He snatched up his cane, hobbled to the liquor cabinet and poured a drink. His gaze never left my face as he knocked the drink back in one gulp. Then he took the bottle to his desk. He said I was the image of my mother, but with his eyes, which is exactly what she used to tell me.”

  Hamish stroked his hand down the side of her face. “One look at you and no one could deny you were his daughter. But how did they lose each other?”

  “By accident and deceit.” She heaved a great sigh for all the two lovers had lost. “They grew up together in the same rural area. As they matured, so did their affection for each other. When John turned eighteen and Lilly was seventeen, he approached her father to ask for her hand. He was refused. As a second son, he had little to offer, and her father thought to secure a title for his only daughter.”

  Hamish’s fingers curled around her shoulder, and Aster wondered if he had endured the same sting as a second son. Refused not because of his worth as a man, but because a title would fall to another head.

  “He joined the army and decided to make a sufficient living to prove he could provide for her. Lilly declared that she would wait for him, however long it took.” Her heart ached at the mental picture of the young lovers, making their promises to each other.

  “The summer Lilly turned eighteen, John returned on leave. He had three months, and I believe they enjoyed every day to its fullest.” She glanced sideways to see if Hamish took her meaning, and was rewarded by the grin on his face.

  “Again they parted with declarations of their love. Lilly had saved a little money, and had her portrait painted in a watch that she gave to him.” Others would consider it a cheap and tawdry trinket, but the item was more than its purchase price: It was a promise from a young woman to the man who held her heart. Sir John had pulled it from his pocket the day Aster met him. He said he kept it with him always.

  “John was shipped overseas, but tragedy struck. The naval vessel transporting them was caught in a storm and torn apart. There were so few survivors. Lilly was told he drowned. That was the week she realised she could no longer conceal that she carried me.” That was the tragedy and mistake that set her mother on her course of action.

  “But he did not die, obviously.” Dougal dropped a stick at Hamish’s feet, but he held up a hand, telling the dog to wait.

  “No, but we never knew that. He washed ashore far from the shipwreck. His foot was so damaged that the villagers who found him had to remove his left leg at the knee to save his life. It took nearly two years before he recovered enough and had sufficient courage to return to her.” And in those two years so much changed, and time could never be turned back.

  Hamish frowned. “What do you mean, the courage?”

  Aster let out a sigh. This part of Sir John’s story tore at her heart. Her mother would have taken him however he was, if only he had headed straight back to her. “He lost his leg and thought that reduced his worth. He wanted to establish himself in the War Office, to show he had a living to sustain her to compensate for the lost limb. If only he had not waited.”

  “What happened to your mother?” Hamish wrapped one of her curls around his finger, a gentle, intimate gesture that made her heart stutter.

  “Her father gave her an ultimatum. Either drink a foul concoction from the local witch to cleanse her womb of me, or she was dead to them.” She couldn’t imagine the choice the young woman faced. Either kill her child, the only link to the man she loved, or face the world alone. “She refused. She said that with John gone, she would not lose the part of him that resided in me. She was only allowed to take what she could pack in a small b
ag.”

  The sorrow of the story welled up in her and she needed to catch her breath. Hamish squeezed her arm and then bent down to retrieve Dougal’s stick. He threw it, and the dog ran off with a happy wag of his tail and soon came back dragging it along. He looked exceptionally pleased with himself, just as he did when he caught a particularly large rat. The moment of watching Dougal’s joy in the simple things gave Aster strength to continue.

  “Where did she go?” Hamish asked, once she had regained her composure. He gave the stick a long throw and the dog shot away.

  “An old aunt took her in. She lived there until I was one. Then the aunt died. At that point Mother changed our name to Simmons and she found a position as a governess, saying she was an army widow.” That was the life she knew, her mother looking after other children while she sat in a corner of the kitchen. She remembered three such homes; with each change she learned to stay quiet and out of the way, with books her escape and her only friends.

  “Do you know what happened when John returned?” Hamish’s voice prompted her when she had fallen silent for too long.

  “Her father was true to his word. They put it about that she died of a fever. John found only her grave. Even faced with John’s grief, her father refused to tell him the truth: that she lived, and had borne his child.” That was the true tragedy, that her grandparents could not allow their child one tiny iota of hope or joy. How could they have faced the young clerk, come to claim his true love, and then lie to his face? “He spent months walking the countryside, hoping to encounter her shade so he could say goodbye, but he never found her. He even consulted a seer, but she could not reach out to Lilly. I suspect her family hired their own seer to wipe all trace of her from the aether once they knew Sir John searched for her.”

  The sun sank lower and the shadows around them lengthened. Dougal returned, having abandoned his search for the stick, and flopped at Aster’s feet. Thoughts of her parents’ tragic lives gave Aster’s thoughts clarity. They’d both spent such lonely years, kept apart from each other by others. Love was such a joyous thing; it should be grasped with both hands when you find it.