by C. J. Archer
"I do."
"Because your instincts tell you so?"
"No, because he lacks the spine to kill. And his hands are normal sized."
"So are Ballantine's, and yet we know he's a shape shifter. Besides, Prince Eddy could have paid Franklin to kill for him. I'm not sure that a man needs a spine to employ another to murder on his behalf. I'm not willing to rule him out yet."
We walked beneath the gated arch and out of the estate. I lifted my face to the morning sunshine and smiled up at the cloudless sky. Seagulls drifted aimlessly, floating on the breeze without a care in the world.
And then they squawked and scattered.
Lincoln froze and pushed me behind him. I lost my balance but he didn't reach for me as he usually would. A knife appeared in each of his hands, pulled from hiding places in the moment of my distraction. He set his feet apart; a fighting stance.
The bushes rustled and my thudding heart plunged. Three huge creatures emerged, walking on all fours. They resembled wolves, and yet they were not. Their muscular bodies were covered in brown fur and their pointed teeth dripped with saliva. They growled. The deep, primal sound vibrated through me, settling in the pit of my churning stomach.
"Run, Charlie!" Lincoln ordered. "Get away!"
I did not. I couldn't leave him and there was no point. He would be dead before I could fetch help. I reached for my knife, strapped to my leg, without looking away from two of the creatures, now prowling toward us. Their giant paws padded across the gravel, the only sound in the dense silence. No birds chirped, no insects chirruped, and even the leaves had stopped rustling. We were utterly alone with three violent beasts.
I pulled the amber pendant from beneath my bodice and clasped it in my trembling fingers. It did not throb with my touch or grow warm. It could be dead. I felt sick at the prospect. Without the imp, we had no chance of survival against much stronger shape changers.
The two beasts advanced, the third hanging back near the bushes. Heavy heads hung low to the ground, ears pricked up, alert. They were fierce, wild, yet human intelligence shone in their eyes. That made them so much more frightening.
"I release you," I said to the orb around my neck.
Nothing happened.
I lifted the orb to my lips with shaking hands and said louder, "Imp, come out. I release you."
No light announced its arrival. No cat-like creature appeared. My words only managed to achieve the attention of one of the shape changers. It turned away from Lincoln and advanced on me.
Chapter 13
"Charlie, go!" Lincoln shouted.
I stumbled back but did not leave. Perhaps I could draw the second creature away from Lincoln to give him a better chance. The third wolf still kept its distance, swaying a little from side to side, watching.
The second wolf eyed my knife but did not stop prowling toward me. The lipless mouth stretched wide, a gruesome grin that revealed the jagged teeth, the lolling tongue and globs of saliva. I opened my mouth to try to summon the imp again when the first wolf attacked.
Lincoln stabbed upward and his knife struck the beast's shoulder. It yelped and slowed, but did not stop. Lincoln dove to the side and rolled on the ground before springing to his feet. Blood smeared the gravel and his torn clothes. He'd been hit. Oh God.
The second wolf growled at me.
I clutched the knife handle, blade pointed at the wolf, and screamed at my orb. "For God's sake! Come out before it's too late. I release you!"
The beast sprang. I somehow managed to keep my eyes open, giving me the perfect view of the matted fur of its belly, the enormous pads of its paws, the yellow of its eyes…descending, descending. All I could do was hold the blade tight and pray it was enough.
A flash of light forced my eyes closed. An inhuman squeal ripped through the air. I opened my eyes to see Lincoln easily dodging the swipe of a distracted shape changer. Its focus was not on him but on the hairless, long-eared feline creature larger than a bull with sharp claws slashing at the wolf that had leapt at me.
My otherworldly imp had come to my rescue, finally.
Lincoln scrambled to his feet and came to my side. We watched as the imp hissed at the wolves and lashed out again, the razor-sharp claws just missing the face of the second shape changer. The wolf stumbled backward, bumping into the first one. The third whimpered and ran off into the bushes.
The other two tried to get past my imp to attack us, but it darted between them, slashing one and then the other, hissing and growling like a giant wild cat. The two creatures gave up and followed their pack mate into the thicket.
The imp sat on its haunches and watched the place where the beasts had vanished. It panted as if it had run miles then sank to the ground, resting its head on its front paws. After a moment, it shrank to the size of a house cat and mewled.
"Return now," I told it. "The danger is over." I hoped.
Another flash of light forced my eyes to close. When I reopened them, all was quiet, the bushes were still, and my orb once again felt warm to touch. The imp was safely inside—and alive. Thank God.
"Lincoln," I managed, my voice trembling. "You're hurt."
"A scratch. You?"
"Those are not mere scratches." I tried to see his wounds on his arm but he moved toward the bushes where the wolves had disappeared.
"Come back from there," I said with less command than I wanted, thanks to my shaking voice.
"They're gone," he announced. Even so, he only returned one knife to its hiding place up his sleeve. He adjusted his grip on the other, picked up his hat, and returned to me. The sharp planes of his cheeks and jaw were rigid, his eyes as black as a moonless night. His gaze swept up and down my length, then, apparently satisfied that I was unharmed, he took my hand and led me along the road.
My heart lurched at the rumble of wheels up ahead but it was only a cart pulled by an ancient horse and driven by an equally ancient man. He touched the brim of his straw hat in greeting. I managed a "Good morning," in return, but Lincoln did not.
We did not speak until we reached the nearest village of East Cowes where he found a coach to take us back to the inn at Cowes. The driver nodded at Lincoln's arm. The sleeve of his jacket and shirt were torn, the fabrics drenched with blood.
"Need a doctor?" the driver asked.
"I'll see one in Cowes." Lincoln assisted me into the carriage. His grip was firm, his balance steady. If the injury affected him, he did an excellent job of hiding it.
"Will you see a doctor?" I asked him as the coach rolled forward.
"No."
I drew in a deep breath, my first proper one since the attack. I drew in another for good measure and brought Lincoln's hand to my lips. He had not let me go on the walk into the village and still did not try to extricate himself.
"That was close," I said.
"Yes." He slipped his knife back into his boot then cupped my face. He stared into my eyes a moment, then moved his hand from my cheek to the back of my neck. His firm grip pulled me forward. I thought he was going to kiss me but he didn't close the gap between us. "When I order you to leave, you leave. Is that understood, Charlie?"
I sat back slowly, forcing him to remove his hand. I did not release his other but clasped it tightly in my lap. "Your anger is better directed at the shape changers, not me."
"I'm not angry. I'm…" He lifted one shoulder and shook his head, as if he couldn't put his emotions into words.
"You are angry with me. I defied you and you don't like it."
"No. I do not like it."
"That's unfortunate, Lincoln, because I will defy you if you order me to leave you again. Whether you're ordering me away from Lichfield to keep me safe, or because you think it's better for me, or ordering me to flee when you are being attacked, I will defy you. Every time. Is that clear?"
His gaze bored into mine. His nostrils flared. I prepared for a battle.
"If I think I can be of use," I went on, "then I will stay and fight. If I believe m
y presence is a hindrance, then—and only then—will I go. You can rant and rave all you want, but I won't change my mind."
He withdrew his hand from mine, tipped his head back against the wall, and muttered something in a language that I couldn't understand.
"Cursing me in a foreign tongue won't make me change my mind either." I glanced out the window. We were already half way between villages. "Why won't you see a doctor?"
"I can't risk the questions." He separated the shredded pieces of his sleeve and inspected the cuts on his right arm. "You can stitch them."
"Me?"
"You've done it before."
"Yes, but I disliked you then. I didn't care if I hurt you. It's different now. Let's find a doctor."
"And risk infection with poorly prepared instruments? Not all medics understand the importance of a sterilized environment. Besides, we don't want awkward questions being asked. You can do it, Charlie. I brought a medical kit with me."
I groaned. "You won't let me get out of it, will you?"
"No, but when have you obeyed any of my orders?"
"I obey the reasonable ones."
I was acutely aware that, aside from the hand holding, we'd hardly touched since the attack. Simmering anger still vibrated from Lincoln, although he did not mention my defiance again. I suspected he knew it was a battle he could not win.
A maid brought up a jug of boiling water upon my request and left it beside the bowl in Lincoln's room. If she thought it scandalous that we were alone together, she made no comment. I tipped water into the bowl and dropped the needle into it. Lincoln removed his jacket and waistcoat then carefully peeled off his shirt.
"It would have been less painful if you'd just let me see your nakedness last night," I said. "But I'll take this, blood and all."
He eyed me with a flinty glare. So he was still angry.
"I'll try not to ravish you in your delicate state," I went on as if he'd found his sense of humor. "But I can't make any promises."
He turned to the side, presenting me with his shoulder. The gashes on his upper arm weren't too deep or long, but they needed proper treatment. Lincoln had taught me a little about wound care and sterilization. I took care to wash my hands and clean the area around the cuts with the carbolic acid from his medical kit. He made no sound, although it must have stung. Despite my quips, I wasn't feeling at all confident about stitching him up.
I drew a deep breath and threaded the needle. I would have told him to be still or to prepare himself, but no one could ever be more prepared for pain than Lincoln. Even so, I winced each time the needle bit into his flesh, and I stitched as fast as I could to get it over with sooner. He only flinched on the first stitch.
"There," I said, tying a knot in the end of the thread and snipping off the excess with the scissors. "Done. Are you all right?"
He nodded and inspected the stitches. "A fine job."
I packed away the medical kit, concentrating hard on every instrument and not on the semi-naked, wounded man whose presence made my heart thud louder and who could have died today if not for my imp.
I failed. Tears blurred my vision and clogged my throat. If he thought I would ever leave him to face something like that alone, to die alone, he was sorely mistaken and he didn't know me at all.
"It was Leonora, and probably her mother and Mrs. Franklin." He sounded close behind me. "The one that didn't attack was Leonora. I'm sure of it. And as far as we know, the only pack members on the island are Lady Ballantine and Mrs. Franklin. Mr. Franklin could be here but those creatures were female. It must be them."
I heard rustling. Perhaps he was putting on a clean shirt. But then he spoke again, and this time he was at my back. I could feel him even though we weren't touching. "Do you agree?" he asked softly.
I nodded, but couldn't speak with the tears trickling down my cheeks. I didn't want him to know I was crying. I wanted to be strong. I wanted to be someone he could rely on in a dangerous situation.
"Charlie?"
I nodded, hoping that was enough of an answer.
It was not. He touched my shoulder. "Charlie," he murmured.
He gently turned me around and lowered his spare shirt to the chair. He brushed my cheek with his knuckles and pressed his other hand to the small of my back.
"I'm not angry with you," he said.
"I know."
"Then why the tears?"
"Because you got hurt. It could have been worse."
"It wasn't."
"But it could have been, if I hadn’t been there and if my imp hadn’t come out…"
He said nothing and simply kissed me on the lips. The tenderness of it brought on a fresh bout of tears. I tried so hard to stop them but couldn't. His lips moved from my mouth to my cheek then to each eyelid, and I finally stopped crying.
He wrapped his arms around me and I pressed my cheek against his chest. His skin felt warm, the scattering of tiny black hairs soft, but it was the reassuring beat of his heart I loved most. Its strong, steady rhythm reinforced my fragile one until I felt better.
Yet I did not pull away. I enjoyed the closeness too much to want it to end. I splayed my hands at his back and stroked the smooth skin stretched over straps of muscle. I closed my eyes and breathed him in, not just into my lungs but into my soul. Being with him like this felt so right. We were right. I had never been more certain.
"You should go," he said, his voice vibrating from his chest through my body. Yet he did not move away or set me at arm's length.
"When I can be sure you won't faint from your injuries."
I felt rather than heard his laugh. "At least we know your imp is still alive."
"Thank goodness it was merely in a very deep sleep."
"We can't always rely on it."
"No," I said, not wanting to explore what could have happened if I had not worn the necklace.
He finally did set me aside then and I sighed inwardly. I sighed again when he put on his clean shirt, covering up his athletic frame. His mouth twitched in amusement, I was pleased to see. It meant his injuries didn't pain him much. It also meant he was no longer angry with me for defying his order to leave the scene of the attack. He might not like that I stayed, but he had accepted it.
"Should we be concerned about three shape-shifters roaming the island?" I asked.
He shook his head. "They were only after us. They must have seen us at Beaulieu House, or heard about our visit, and realized why we'd come."
"What did they hope to achieve in attacking us? If they'd succeeded, it would have caused chaos. Imagine the upset when the newspapers reported a wild dog attack near Osborn House while the queen and the next two heirs to the throne were in residence."
He lowered the waistcoat he'd been about to put on. "Perhaps they did not intend to kill us, only to frighten us away."
"That's certainly not how it seemed at the time." I placed the cloth I'd used to clean Lincoln's wounds into the bowl of bloody water.
"It's likely they panicked after learning we were here," he said. "Their attack could have been a spur of the moment decision."
"Leonora hung back. She didn't want to harm us. That could work in our favor."
He nodded slowly as he put on his waistcoat. "That's why I intend to visit her in secret."
I set the bowl of water down again. "By secret you mean without her mother or Mrs. Franklin knowing."
He nodded.
"And you also intend to take me with you," I said with a questioning arch of my brow.
He picked up his tie and did it up without looking in the mirror, or at me. I straightened it after he'd finished then gave it a fierce tug. He finally met my gaze.
"I'm coming with you, Lincoln. Leonora trusts me."
He gave a small nod. "We'll leave immediately. Until Prince Eddy has left the island, I want to know where Leonora and the other shape shifters are."
"You think his life is in danger?"
"Not his life, his heart. He's still in love
with her. And she must not be allowed near him to compromise him in any way."
"By compromise you mean trick him into an illicit liaison. You think her that cunning?"
"Not her, but those advising her. And the young prince is both gullible and in love. If his father lets him out of his sight, Leonora could easily lure him into the bushes and have her way with him before he departs. If there were witnesses then it would be extremely difficult for the royal family to sweep it under the carpet. Public exposure might be just what Ballantine wants to force the issue."
"Then we'd better go now. He's due to leave soon."
From my vantage point, behind the hedge bordering one side of Beaulieu House, I peered up at the second window on the top floor and willed Leonora to come down. She sat in the window, staring at the sky, her head resting against the pane of glass. She looked miserable.
But at least we knew she was there. Both Mrs. Franklin and Lady Ballantine were inside too. We'd seen them through the ground floor windows, their heads bent over needlework. The peaceful domestic scene was in stark contrast to their attack on the road from Osborn House.
"I hope the prince got away safely," I said. More than two hours had passed since the Prince of Wales told us Eddy was due to depart.
Lincoln didn't answer. He crouched beside me, gloved fingers pressed to the earth for balance. I shifted my weight, attempting to get more comfortable. Crouching in heeled boots, a bustle dress and two petticoats was not at all comfortable. I'd not yet taken to wearing corsets, although I suspected the day was coming when I must don the restrictive garment. I'd gotten away with it when I was thinner, and then under heavy coats and jackets as my body shape changed with more regular meals. Now that warmer weather and lighter clothes were on the horizon, I must wear some kind of under garment.
"We'll go," Lincoln announced. "It's lunch time."
"You're abandoning the task in favor of your stomach? I never thought I'd see the day."
He directed his cool gaze to me. "I see no point in waiting here, watching her do nothing. Prince Eddy will have gone, so her plan is foiled."
