She repeated her litany in her mind: no more fear. Those three little words kept her from bolting for freedom across the fields. A smidge of curiosity also held her in place. Her mage blood whispered that he possessed something that belonged to her.
With the horses in the barn seen to, they walked out to the paddock with the foals and broodmares. They leaned on the stone wall and watched the youngsters play. Constance, with her jet-black coat and long silken mane, walked over to have her ears scratched.
“She’s a beauty,” Ewan said as the mare leaned into Alice’s touch.
“Isn’t she? Her foal is the black colt. Although Ianthe says he will go grey like Galahad as he ages.” Alice didn’t have Ianthe’s ability with horses, but she could appreciate the elegance and beauty of an equine, and there was something about being around a horse that soothed her fractured soul. The very aroma of warm horse seemed to bring peace with each inhale.
Eilidh barked and Alice turned to see what had attracted the dog’s attention. A group of riders appeared around the bend in the road, their breaths frosting on the chill air. Three men trotted along, one out front and the other two each leading another horse behind. Hooves rang out on the frozen earth.
Alice’s heart sank. More men. Her mind was drowning just dealing with the one beside her. She narrowed her gaze at the group, but none seemed familiar. A cold lump settled in her stomach.
The farm saw infrequent visitors. Ianthe had put the word around she was in the market for quality broodmares, and occasionally an opportunistic farmer or passing traveller would ride up with a mare for her to inspect. Alice thought the approaching harsh weather would have kept all casual visitors away until spring.
“It will be horses for Ianthe to view.” She glanced backwards, but the farmhouse was silent, with no sign of movement through the thick mullioned windows. Why did Ianthe not appear? Panic clawed its way up Alice’s body and her feet itched to run. Something about the approaching riders fed her panic.
Ewan made a sound in his throat that bordered on a growl and his nostrils flared. “Smells like trouble. Go wake Quinn.”
Ewan’s words echoed through her body in time with a beat that rippled through her veins. Her mage blood gave a familiar warning. Alice didn’t just find people and missing objects, the magic in her veins also warned of approaching danger. She had ignored its warning once, drowning it out with champagne, and she had walked unseeing into a trap.
“I’ll go fetch them.” Alice would heed both the spoken warning and the internal one. Once she roused Ianthe and Quinn, she could bolt across the countryside and leave them to deal with the strangers.
Ewan arched one black eyebrow, an amused look in his eyes, as though he suspected she would run in the opposite direction to both men and farmhouse. “I shall greet the visitors while you wake the happy couple.”
Relief washed through Alice. Ewan would deal with them. Now she only had wake Ianthe, and she could slip away until there were less people around. Picking up her skirts, she ran through the grass back to the house. Eilidh thought it a great game, and she barked and bounded next to her.
Alice pulled the door open, sure she would have to rouse the couple from their bed, only to find them sitting at the table.
“Oh, you’re up.” Surprise stole her words for a moment.
Ianthe at least had dressed. Quinn, compared to Ewan, was undressed and dishevelled. His linen shirt gaped open at the neck, he wore no waistcoat, and his hair looked like Ianthe had her hands tangled in it all night long. A large, wolfish grin dominated his face.
Ianthe smiled and had a luminous glow. The woman looked entirely content with her life, or entirely physically satisfied. “Quinn has quite an appetite, and he needed feeding.”
The young man did bear a remarkable resemblance to a starving wolfhound. It also explained the shaggy hair. He was eating the porridge straight from the pot with the serving spoon, and a pile of toast sat at his elbow.
Alice pointed back out the door. “Riders are approaching with mares. Ewan says they smell like trouble and for you to come, Quinn.”
Quinn froze. Then he nodded and dropped the pot to the table with a mournful gaze, as though he had intended to lick it out and would now be unable. He rose and pulled a tweed waistcoat off the back of his chair. “I will join Ewan to greet your guests. Ewan can growl, but I can bite if needed.”
Ianthe waved a hand. “I’m sure he is overreacting. It is not uncommon for men to show up with broodmares, and we do need to find a few more mares for Galahad this spring.”
Ianthe rose, brushed out her skirts, and tucked a stray curl of hair behind her ear. “Would you be a dear, Alice, and heat some ale for them? They will be thirsty and cold if they have ridden from the village, and if the mares are any good, it might make negotiations smoother.”
Serving drinks wasn’t in her plans; she had hoped to bolt like a startled rabbit. The ripple still ran through her blood, warning her the men were not to be trusted. She rubbed her arm, trying to dispel the whispers from under her skin.
A trickle of new resolve ran down her spine. She could do this. To overcome a fear, one must face it. First breakfast with one man, now serving drinks to several more. Today was the start of her trial by fire. She was the blade that would be strengthened by the flames.
“Of course,” she said as the others left the cosy kitchen.
Alice filled a pot from the large barrel of ale in the pantry and set it to heat on the range. Then she stared at the dresser. Best to stay away from the finely painted porcelain she thought, and selected a plain, sturdy pottery pitcher. The jug went on the tray and she added half a dozen tin mugs, the ones they used for outside. Once steam began to rise from the pot, Alice wrapped a towel around the handle and poured hot ale into the pottery jug.
With slow, careful steps, she carried the tray outside to the men, who were now standing on the dirt yard in front of the barn. The yard was protected from the winter gusts blowing off the fields by the lee of the building and the hill behind. Quinn ran a hand over a piebald mare while Ianthe stood at its head. Ewan stared at the interlopers, his gaze flicking from one to the other.
“Would you care for a hot drink, gentlemen?” Ianthe asked as Alice stopped next to her.
“Aye, a drink to wet my whistle would be grand. Then perhaps we can run our hands over your fillies,” one man said.
Alice set the tray down on the stump used for splitting wood and began pouring drinks.
Ianthe frowned. “I’m afraid you are mistaken. We don’t have any fillies for sale.”
The three rough visitors laughed and exchanged looks. “No need to play coy with us, we know what you’re about out here.”
Alice froze with a mug in her hand as the warning that pulsed through her blood turned from a slight tickle to the full-on gush of a river in flood. She met Ianthe’s startled grey gaze.
Quinn dropped the mare’s leg and straightened. “Perhaps it’s time you gentlemen left. You seem to be here under a false understanding.”
“Not without a bit of fun first to warm us all up for the ride back.” The man closest to Alice lunged, grabbing her around the waist. Alice dropped the mug, and beer drained into the soil with a puff of steam. His hand stole up her body and squeezed her breast. Her mind screamed, but only a whimper broke free of her throat.
“You’re a leggy thing. I’d like to take you for a ride.” He ground his hips against her bottom.
Eilidh growled and launched herself at the man, sinking her teeth into the fabric of his trousers. The little dog tried to haul the man backwards, her little legs scrabbling in the dirt.
“Bloody dog is gonna bite me!” The man kicked out, and his arm bit deeper into Alice’s stomach.
“That’s not the dog you should be worried about,” Quinn said.
Alice closed her eyes and a single tear rolled down her face. She would be a good girl and endure. Time would pass quicker if she were still.
But this time it w
as different. She was no longer alone. Now someone fought for her, or a number of someones. The terrier refused to let go until the fiend released her mistress. But there was another presence who reached out a hand to save her from the nightmare.
“Let her go, or you’ll be picking your entrails out of the dirt.” The words, softly spoken, carried the chill of winter frost. Alice opened her eyes to find a blue gaze locked on her face. “Stay with me, Alice. This is not your fault.”
The world blurred around the edges as the nightmare pulled her down, but those eyes held in place. She wanted to run, to hide, to drown in his endless ocean. From one side came a low growl. Not from Eilidh, but from a creature much larger. One of the men swore and the other gasped.
“I’ll be quiet,” Alice sobbed. She would do what he wanted. It was over quicker that way. If she fought or struggled, his breathing would quicken and he would take longer, drawing out her fear and pain as he tore a slither from her soul.
The man wrapped one hand around her throat, and his fingers bit into her skin. “Call the dog off or I might squeeze this one a little too hard.”
As Alice’s vision turned black at the outer edges, Ewan lunged. Unable to shift form, he instead struck out, his arm a cobra, and fastened on his prey.
The man holding Alice made a startled gasp and his grip loosened. Alice sobbed as she dropped to the ground. Her hands broke her fall and Eilidh was there, licking her face. She barely registered the enormous wolf standing on one of the men.
She just ran.
4
Ewan
* * *
Ewan kept his left hand wrapped around the man’s throat until his eyes started to bulge. Desperate fingers clawed at his fist that controlled the man’s airflow, but he wasn’t going to relent. This man’s short nails were nothing compared to the hot poker of fire that burned his other hand. The one he kept in his pocket, as though the encounter were something casual, rather than let his opponent see his weakness.
To one side of him, Quinn growled as he sat atop a man and flattened him into the dirt. Saliva fell from the wolf’s exposed fangs onto the prone man, who whimpered with each drip. The third stranger was occupied hanging onto the lead rope of a terrified mare.
The man wheezed under Ewan’s grip, and the red veins in the unfortunate's eyes flooded with blood that seemed unable to flow down his neck. Ewan only let him go with a push once Alice’s retreating figure disappeared in the shadow of the tree-covered hill.
The man gasped a few breaths and then stood straight and tried to appear undisturbed by the man who transformed into a wolf before their eyes. He shuffled to one side, putting the third man trying to wrangle the frightened horse between him and the Unnatural beast.
With slow, deliberate moves, he straightened the edges of his overcoat and then wiped his nose against his sleeve, marking the tweed with a silvery trail. “We were told the two women living here are whores, and we thought they’d like some business. We were going to do them a favour—let them earn some extra coin and spread some holiday cheer.”
“The only thing the likes of you would spread is the pox.” Ianthe’s finger stabbed in the air.
Ewan stayed immobile lest his damaged leg belie his cool demeanour. Only his glacial stare turned on the man. “I don’t know what stories you have heard about these ladies, but whoever told the tale omitted one vital detail. They are under the protection of an Unnatural wolf.”
Quinn lowered his large head and snarled at the man under his paws, who emitted a high-pitched squeak like a compressed mouse. The horse nearby snorted and rolled its eyes until only the whites showed.
Ewan nodded in Quinn’s direction. “That messy brute is very protective and rather impulsive. Yours wouldn’t be the first throats he’s removed.”
Ewan doubted he needed to defend Ianthe. Even without Quinn beside her, she always struck him as perfectly capable of fighting her own battles. But Alice—well, there was a woman who desperately needed someone to stand up for her. If Ewan had been capable, he would have happily changed form and taught the buffoon how wolves protected their own.
“Let him up, Quinn. They will be leaving now.” Ewan spoke to his pack brother, but he kept the man before him pinned with a steely regard.
The wolf snorted and let out a short yap as though it disagreed. He leaned more of his weight on his front paws and the man’s squeak was cut off.
“He can’t leave if you’re squashing him, and I don’t want him fouling up the yard.” Ianthe reached out and laid a hand on the wolf’s massive head. She tried in vain to stroke the fur in one way, but it obeyed no order but its own and stuck out in several different directions.
The wolf sighed and took two steps back, freeing the man from its weight.
The squealer scrabbled backwards until he hit his friend’s leg and then rose, his wide eyes never drifting from the creature. The three of them appeared braver once they all stood back to back, surrounded by a woman, a cripple and an overgrown dog.
“Say it ain’t true, then, that you were never a whore.” One puffed out his chest and threw a challenge to Ianthe.
“It is most definitely false, for I was never a whore. I was a courtesan to the finest nobles of my selection. I wouldn’t have let your sort empty my chamber pot.”
Ianthe wasn’t backing down. Quinn’s wolf might have to sit on her to hold her back if she had a temper to match her fiery curls.
Ewan coughed politely into his hand to draw their attention back to him. “Don’t get distracted, gentlemen. You were about to leave. I do believe you interrupted the wolf’s breakfast, and he’d like to return to it, unless you have something else he can chew on?”
Quinn’s long pink tongue licked his lips and rolled down a fang as he stared at the man, who gave another squawk.
The men grumbled but made their way to their horses as a pack, as though they feared walking singly in case they were picked off.
“Good riddance to you. Your mares have horrible conformation, and I wouldn’t breed to them if I were drunk and desperate. That one is not only pigeon-toed but knock-kneed.” Ianthe pointed to the piebald mare.
The creature had a sweet eye but legs that made even Ewan shudder. But then, he preferred much finer ankles. Like those revealed when a woman picked up her skirts and ran.
“You’re too old anyway,” one shouted, feeling braver now they had climbed into their saddles.
“Old? Old!” Ianthe lunged but something held her back as her hands swiped at the air. “Your dried up pizzle wouldn’t satisfy a pig!”
The wolf had grabbed a mouthful of skirt and sat down, using its bulk as a counterweight to the swinging Ianthe and stopping his mate from getting deeper into trouble.
Ewan swallowed a laugh as the beast rolled his eyes. Courtesans, even if retired, possessed rather colourful vocabularies.
Only as the riders took up the lead reins for the following mares and pointed their mounts down the driveway did Quinn let go of Ianthe’s dress. Then he let out a loud howl that startled the horses. The interlopers bounced in the saddles as the panicked horses bolted away from the noise.
Ewan and Ianthe watched until they disappeared around the curve in the road. When Ewan turned around, a naked Quinn was putting his trousers back on.
Ianthe handed him his shirt and then scanned the countryside for her friend, a hand to her eyes as she searched the distant hills. “Blast those oafs. Alice could be gone for hours, and the nights are so cold that she will freeze out there if we don’t find her before dark.”
“I will go search for her.” Ewan offered, although the way the woman bolted, she could be in the next county by now.
“It will be rather like trying to flush out a rabbit, and I’m afraid to say she may not let you anywhere near her after that.” Ianthe bit her lip, worry for her friend written all over her face.
“I can be rather patient with frightened animals, and I doubt I will be much use around here.” Ewan waved his useless hand.
Ianthe screwed up her face as she thought. “Very well, if you don’t mind. She was doing so well coping with you and Quinn, and now those horrid men have given her a scare.”
“It might not be as bad as you think.” Ewan remembered the way she had straightened and faced him the previous day, as though she found an ounce of courage. He hoped this was a temporary setback.
Ianthe squeezed his arm. “I pray you are right. I would give anything to hear her laugh again.”
Ewan would search for the missing woman and coax her out of her hidey-hole. That seemed a far easier task than leading the frisky stallion out to the paddock with the mares. Or watching the openly affectionate couple who made loneliness bounce around his hollow interior. “Just point me in the best direction.”
Ianthe gestured towards one of the hills, and Ewan fixed his sight on the right dip in the landscape. “Over that hill, the river cuts through the valley. Follow the river up to the small waterfall. Alice normally hides there. But if she is holed up, we might have to leave her a blanket.”
Ewan walked over to the barn and picked up the bridle for his horse. He slipped the bit into the horse’s mouth and slid the leather over its ears before struggling to do up the buckles with one good hand. With the help of a nearby barrel, he was able to climb on bareback. It felt good to let his left leg stretch down without worrying about a stirrup.
If his body were free of silver, he would shift to his wolf and follow Alice’s scent. At times he didn’t even know if the creature remained inside him or if the French mage’s spell had burned all trace of the lycanthrope away. He had to reach deep inside his psyche to hear the beast whimper and find its injured body wrapped tight in silver chains. The bullet in its leg was an open wound that seeped poison and refused to heal.
His fellow Highland Wolves knew only that the bullet stopped him changing form. He had told no one that the creature was dying of its wounds. When he finally met with the mages at the Royal Arsenal, he would have to reveal the extent of the damage, but showing his weakness didn’t come easily.
Souls to Heal Page 4
