Meal over and her grief tucked away for later, they were soon on their way with refreshed horses. Aster just wished she shared the equine exuberance as they trotted along the road with their ears pricked. The closer they travelled to London the more fear gnawed at her gut. She was a cryptographer, not a brave soldier or a wolf who could bare its fangs as it faced down an enemy. Her weapon was a pen, not a sword.
Hamish reached out and took her hand. “We will protect you, Aster, and find who killed your father.”
“I know, and I trust you. It’s just that I have never openly engaged with the enemy like this. Sir John and I worked quietly in our little office, our pencils scraping over paper as we decoded reports and communiqués. Now I find myself in the thick of it and I admit, I am quite terrified.” Sir John had started life as a soldier and earned his knighthood through his service—if he could not prevail, how could she? How much damage could a sharpened pencil inflict?
He squeezed her hand. “Everybody fights in a different way, Aster. You have unique skills that will help us. You know something of these vampyres and how to defeat them. It would greatly help if you could remember anything else.”
“I will try.” Information, once absorbed, could be retained and recalled. She thought of her mind like the wall of little filing boxes in her office. Each contained information about a particular topic. She just had to close her eyes, pick the right drawer, and pull it open.
Sorting through information in her mind kept Aster occupied and worry at bay. Soon she spotted the smoke rising from chimneys and the light haze that sat over the city. Life erupted around them as they approached, and more people shared the roads, either on foot or in an assortment of horse-drawn vehicles.
“Will it be much longer?” Aster asked as they skirted around the edges of London and headed west. What she really wanted to ask was, Will this journey end in a bath?
“Nearly there. We will meet the others at Aunt Maggie’s house. She will keep you safe.” He huffed a laugh, but kept any further comment about his aunt to himself as he guided the horses and gig through the growing traffic.
To the Londoners swirling around them, they looked like country bumpkins come to town amongst the much finer carriages and curricles. Not that Aster cared, as long as Hamish sat next to her. Every moment in the gig was another moment of feeling his warmth. It didn’t matter what parliament decided, they would adapt. Her parents were never able to marry and it hadn’t changed their deep and abiding love for each other. There was also the little cottage if they needed a roof over their heads.
They headed to Kensington and a growing area down Sloane Road. A neat row of terraces, built the previous century, housed an assortment of merchants and bankers. Hamish halted outside one house that looked almost indistinguishable from the others. As he helped her down, his hand slid around her waist and he pulled her to him for a quick kiss.
“I’ll see you settled, then take the gig and horses to the stables.” A boy ran out and took the reins, and Hamish threw the lad a coin. “I’ll be back shortly,” he said and headed to the front door.
The door swung open and a butler bowed and stepped back. Aster followed him into a house that immediately felt welcoming. Some would declare the décor old-fashioned, with the hangings on the wall, rugs on the floor, and curios from around the world jammed in every corner. But Aster loved it at first sight. This was a home where she could spend hours exploring and learning the stories behind everything. It should have conflicted with her love of order and neatness, yet her mind found something soothing in the chaos and colour.
“Hamish!” A woman emerged from the drawing room and hugged Hamish around the middle. He had to lean down to return the gesture of affection, since the woman only reached to his mid-chest on her tiptoes. Clad all in black, she appeared to be in her seventies, with deep lines etched around her eyes. Her grey hair was so pale it sparkled silver under her widow’s cap.
“Aunt Margaret.” He kissed the top of her head.
Aster could have sworn the tiny woman was trying to lift him up, so hard did she grip him as she squeezed. Bear hug over, she turned a keen gaze to Aster. Blue eyes like a clear summer sky regarded her and laid bare her secrets.
“And who is this waif you have brought to me? Poor creature looks half-starved and worn out.” She grabbed Aster’s arms and held them away from her body. “She’ll have an ample bosom on her, once we fatten her a bit. Not suitable for breeding yet, but the bones are good.”
Aster coughed and reddened at the same time. She knew nobles treated women like broodmares, but this was the first time she had been assessed as one.
“I am Aster Simmons, my lady. And I concur, I am not suitable for breeding.” She tried to dip a curtsey, but the other woman still held her hands and had not done with her yet.
She laughed. “Don’t my lady me. When you stay under my roof you become part of my family. Call me Aunt Margaret, or Maggie, as everyone does. And why don’t you think you’re ready for breeding?” Laughter danced in her gaze as she cocked her head to one side.
“I am no noble broodmare; I am a work horse. I could not labour if I had a child to care for.” The whole conversation was making her uncomfortable. Or perhaps it was the serious look in Hamish’s gaze. He was the heir to an earldom so of course he would desire, even require, children. Hope flared in her breast. Offspring had never entered her mind, but that was before she’d met Hamish. Would his children be born with the lycanthrope affliction? How would Dougal cope with small furry playmates?
“Work?” Aunt Margaret let go of her, her hand at her breast as though she might keel over from a sudden turn. “I never heard of anything so preposterous. What is a lass like you doing working? Where are your family?”
Aster swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. “I have always worked to support myself, for I have no family.”
Aunt Margaret frowned for a moment then turned a shrewd gaze from Aster to Hamish. “Well, you do now. Does she not, Hamish?”
He slipped his arm around Aster’s waist and tucked her next to him. “She does indeed, Aunt Maggie, and I have no intention of letting her go. But Aster has a keen mind that works for the War Office.”
Aunt Maggie barked a loud laugh as she looked from one of them to the other. “Always knew your wolf would be first to find its mate.”
Before Aster could question what she meant, Aunt Maggie slipped her arm through Aster’s and drew her away from Hamish and into the drawing room. Inside she found Quinn and Alick. Her fake brother broke into a wide smile on seeing her, and rushed over to embrace her.
“Aster, I am so relieved to see Hamish found you.” He kissed her cheek in familial affection.
“Quinn, I am glad to see you too.” She had come to regard the soldier like the brother he pretended to be.
“It was Dougal who found her,” Hamish said, pointing to the terrier making himself at home on an armchair. “I just followed his lead.”
“At least you brought the lass back safe,” Alick said. A smile pulled one side of his scarred face.
“Where is Ewan?” Hamish asked.
“Asking a few discreet questions. He’s not far away,” Alick said.
“You couldn’t send that brute," Maggie said, swatting at Alick as she shooed the man away from the sideboard, which was set for afternoon tea, as though he were a misbehaving puppy. "His face would scare anyone witless."
Aster was starting to see what Hamish meant. His diminutive aunt was a force of nature. She treated the soldiers like wayward boys or naughty puppies, despite the fact that they all towered over her. She brooked no opposing opinion to hers, and Aster could imagine her as a wild Highland maiden, brandishing a sword next to her chosen mate.
Maggie poured two drinks and placed one in Aster’s hand before dragging her down to the chaise to sit next to her. Then she stuck her feet up on a footstool. “So, what news of the treacherous bastards plotting against England?”
Hamish hitched his h
ip on the sideboard and crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze fixed on Aster. “Aster has decoded their names, and they include the Duke of Balcairn.”
Aunt Maggie barked a short laugh. “Always was too full of himself, that one. After a crown, do you think?”
“Perhaps,” Hamish said. “There is another name of interest, one I have long suspected but had no proof. Callum Forge.”
Alick blew a whistle between his teeth. “Treacherous bastard, indeed. Never liked him. Always said his eyes were too close together. He’ll be our French vampyre, then, despite his lack of style.”
Hamish sipped his drink, his gaze on Aster over the rim of his glass. “Yes, and on that topic. Aster knows about the Wolves.”
Alick narrowed his gaze at Aster. “Does she now? How did you glean that?”
Aster laughed. “Your unit is the Highland Wolves. It couldn’t have been more obvious if you were called the Scottish Lycanthropes. That, and part of my duties included establishing a new register of Unnaturals. All your names had come across my desk. The rest was simple deduction.”
Quinn gave a wolfish grin. “At least we don’t have to hide who we truly are around you.”
“Just don’t go leading Dougal astray. He seems quite convinced he is part of the family.” Aster took a drink from her glass. The liquid burned in her throat, and she coughed and spluttered. She tried to breathe, and finally managed to gasp, “What on earth is this?”
“Uisge beatha,” Alick said, and poured out a generous portion for himself and Hamish.
Margaret thumped her on the back. “Moonshine, or whisky from the heart of Scotland. You’ll get used to it, lass. It’s the best thing around to keep you healthy.”
Aster wasn’t so sure of that; she still seemed to have difficulty breathing. Although as she grew accustomed to the hit of liquid heat, it did embolden her to take another cautious sip.
Hamish sipped his and regarded her with a humour-filled gaze. “Aunt Margaret has it smuggled down from illegal stills that are evading the malt tax of 1725. Another act of Scottish rebellion.”
Footsteps rang out in the hallway, and then Ewan appeared in the doorway.
“There’s my pretty boy,” Margaret said. Her face lit up as he entered the room. She nudged Aster and said in a stage whisper, “He should have been a vampyre, that one, and not a brutish wolf.”
He arched an eyebrow at Aunt Maggie and then crossed to Hamish where they shook hands. A look passed between them, and Ewan nodded to Aster.
“What news?” Ewan asked.
“Callum Forge is a treacherous bastard and a vampyre,” Alick said.
Ewan arched a black brow. “No real surprise there. England made use of his underhanded tactics, and now he has turned those very skills against us. I assume we lay a trap for him?”
Hamish set his glass down on the sideboard. “There are two different paths forward. I shall lay the choice in Aster’s hands as to which we take. We either kill Forge now or let the plot play out.”
“Why let me decide?” Aster said.
“He killed your father and we will deliver vengeance for you. Say the word and we will hunt him down and end him.” Hamish’s wolf flared in his gaze, the predator who would protect his mate and destroy any who tried to harm her.
Aster drew a deep breath. A stab of anger burst through her chest when she thought of what the murderer had taken from Sir John and her. How easy to whisper the word and set the Wolves after him, but was that the right thing to do? “Do you have proof?”
Hamish shook his head. “Apart from his name on the list and gut instinct, no.”
“You will kill him with no evidence and no trial?” She looked from man to man.
“This is war, Aster. Many men die quick deaths,” Quinn said.
“But on English soil?” The decision weighed her down. Aster rose and paced to the window. For a long moment she stared at the pedestrians outside and contemplated what Hamish offered. She had only to give her consent and the men would tear the traitor apart. But did that make her any better than him? There was another reason to stay their hand, a larger puzzle to solve that could save many more lives.
With her thoughts in order, she turned back to the room. “I already see blood on my hands and I will not add another life to my tally, even one as worthless as his. Nothing can bring back my father but we will bring this traitor to justice. The men on the list are part of a larger conspiracy. There are whispers in dispatches of a secret weapon against England, both mundane and magical. We need to determine the particulars of that plot.”
Hamish crossed to where she stood and folded her in his arms. “There will be justice for Sir John, but we will follow your lead.” He kissed her forehead and then led her back to the sofa and her spot next to Aunt Maggie.
“Very well, we let this play out. We will deliver the list to Forge, gather evidence of his betrayal, and sniff out their plot,” Hamish said.
Alick frowned. “How will that help? They’ll move the people or change their plans.”
A smile broke over Hamish’s face. “Because we give them a list, not the list. Can you do that, Aster? Could you construct a false list, using the same cypher?”
She thought through the steps required. “Yes. I just need names and some time, but it won’t be too difficult now I hold the key.” Realisation showed her Hamish’s path. “You would keep him busy and away from the real conspirators by laying a false trail, while you investigate those involved.”
Margaret smiled and raised her drink to Aster. “She’s not just pretty, this one, Hamish, she’s clever. When do you plan to marry her? Aster will have the estate organised in no time while you roam the countryside chasing rabbits.”
Aster blushed and looked down at her hands. No one had ever referred to her as pretty before, and it was a rather different compliment than praising her organisational skills. The image that stared back at her from the mirror was distinctly ordinary.
Hamish clenched his jaw. “That, unfortunately, is in the hands of parliament. If they strip our rights with the new act, I can never marry Aster.”
“Oh piffle!” Aunt Maggie said. “This is why Scotland should break England’s grip around her throat. Their laws have never applied to our wolves. A good old fashioned hand-fasting ceremony would let the lass know you will always stand by her.”
Aster hid her smile behind her raised glass. When she raised her gaze to Hamish, he grinned and toasted her. Aster basked in the moment of being surrounded by family, the one thing she had always longed for. Then a thought popped into her mind and she turned to Aunt Maggie. “What do you mean, English laws never applied to ‘your wolves’? Are there many in Scotland? Hamish said your husband was one.”
Aunt Maggie put her drink on a side table and turned her full attention to Aster. “For centuries, men who can shift into wolves have roamed the Highlands. The best lairds are always wolves; they have a better care for their people. My husband was one of the last, but traces still run in Hamish and Alick’s blood.”
“That would explain why the change was easier for them.” Aster had her theory confirmed. What else would she learn in the future as she studied the Highland Wolves? She needed a notebook and a pencil to record her findings.
Hamish made a sound in the back of his throat and Aunt Maggie fell silent. “Perhaps we could discuss family history later? We do have a traitor to catch, and I need to arrange for Sir John’s secretary to deliver our list to Forge.”
Aster blanched at the thought. He would kill her. Her hand tightened around the glass. “I cannot.”
“He means me,” Quinn said from his corner, stepping forward. “Am I not Albert Simmons?”
Aster shook her head. No. She could not ask such a sacrifice of the easy-going young man. “No. He will kill you. I cannot send another innocent man to his death.” She had deep marks in her soul already for the two soldiers she’d sent to Sir John. She could not bear to see Quinn’s name carved alongside theirs. She had lost
her father; she could not lose a brother so soon, even if he was no blood relative.
Hamish glanced to his man, whom he would send into battle on her behalf. “Quinn is a soldier, Aster, and a wolf. I assure you we are quite hard to kill. Quinn will play the role of secretary and you will be safe.”
Fear gripped her heart. Had a wolf ever battled a vampyre? She needed to find vervain, to distil to a potion that Quinn could both drink to contaminate his blood and coat a hidden blade with.
Margaret dropped a hand over hers. “Have trust in Hamish and the wolves, Aster. They know what they do. No garlic-eating French vampyre will win against them.”
Trust. Such a little word with such enormous impact. Standing alone at the cottage, she had determined to trust Hamish with her life. Now she must have faith that he would guard Quinn’s as well.
She squeezed Margaret’s hand. “I do trust him. All of them. But I shall still worry.”
She looked up to find Hamish’s heated gaze on her. “Quinn and Ewan will stay here. Alick and I will take rooms elsewhere. If Forge is watching for sign of us, I do not want to draw his attention to this house.”
Aster nodded, understanding. She rose from the sofa and followed Hamish to the doorway where he folded her in a hug. He kissed her with a fierce intensity that left her sagging against his chest. “Stay safe, Aster. Soon this will be over and we can prepare for the next onslaught.”
“I don’t understand.” Perhaps her head still reeled from the passionate kiss, but his words made no sense. Surely the only battle was finding and stopping the traitor.
Hamish’s lips brushed her ear. “Wait until Aunt Maggie starts planning our future—she will have you bound to me with eternal knots.”
“I cannot wait,” Aster whispered and her heart soared.
“Until tomorrow.” Two quietly spoken words from the man who held her heart.
“Until then.” She retreated back into the parlour and the fortifying strength of the whisky.
25
Hamish
Secrets to Reveal Page 24
