Ewan had spent the day sitting on a tea chest at his impromptu desk made from a brandy barrel. His eyes ached from working by the pallid lantern light as he tallied up the inventory. Forge operated an odd system. Tea and tobacco were sold on directly. But for every four barrels of liquor snuck into the country, his men were allowed one to sell with the gold being split between them. The vampyre kept the other three barrels for himself.
Over two hundred barrels were stacked in the cave. Waiting.
Every now and then his gaze would slide sideways to the stacks while he pondered what deadly surprise lurked within. Ewan suspected Forge stockpiled the French weapon until such time as his masters gave the order to release it. That meant he still had time to eliminate the vampyre and get rid of the threat to England. Somehow.
As he calculated the latest profits from the delivery sold in Hythe and then each man’s share, he swore he heard his mother chuckling in his ear. He had been a horrid student and hated every second of mathematics. English was different; he inherited his mother’s love of language and the flow of poetry.
The mission in Seabrook gave him a chance to reclaim his chosen career as a spy. If he failed here, he might be forced to seek a career as a tutor. There was a horrifying thought—trapped in a schoolroom teaching children as ungrateful as he had been. His mother’s laughter echoed louder in his mind.
If he failed to destroy Forge and whatever hid in the barrels, he would seek an honourable death rather than take up a quill as a scribe or bookkeeper. Or perhaps he could walk out into the ocean and let the sea claim him. No. For that would leave Alice alone. While part of him knew he had to release her to live her own life, the wolf muttered that they should keep her forever.
Blast. Distracted, he had tallied the wrong column of numbers. He let out a sigh, dipped the nib of the quill in the ink, scratched through his carefully penned total, and started again. It was laborious work, not because of the mathematics. His quick mind did that easily enough. Rather, it was concentrating on forming the correct strokes with his left hand. While he could write with both hands, it took more effort to make his penmanship acceptable to his critical eye.
Objectively, he admired the way Forge hid treacherous activities within an illegal one. Smuggling was highly profitable, and coin bought silence from the men involved. Those involved were well paid by selling their share, and they just shrugged when Ewan asked about the brandy left to sit in the cave.
Not that the men would talk anyway, since they faced jail or deportation if caught by the excise men. Or a worse fate from Forge. One man had muttered that he worked for a vampyre but the others stayed tight lipped on the subject. No one commented that they mostly saw him at night and that he never ate or drank when he appeared in the tavern.
Jimmy slapped Ewan on the shoulder and made the quill jump. “How are the numbers? Will you be done in time to pay out the men tonight?”
Ewan frowned at the blob of ink that formed as a result of Jimmy’s friendly greeting. He really was becoming a bookkeeper, because the smudge annoyed him and made him want to rip the entire page out and start again.
“Assuming Crufts returns with payment from Hythe, then yes. The men will have ample to spend in the tavern tonight.”
A perfect situation for Jimmy. The men were paid and then promptly spent their coin in the tavern run by his mother. He should really cut out the middleman and issue them chits to spend on alcohol and food.
A wind blew down the tunnel and ruffled his pages. Just as he reached for them, a figure appeared in the entrance to the cavern. Forge. Ewan ducked his head and curled his spine so he hunched over the work. Every morning Alice altered his features, but Ewan wouldn’t know if Forge saw through it until the moment the game was up.
Jimmy headed over to the man and touched the brim of his cap, a reflex when his boss appeared. Ewan thought it would be better to make the sign of the cross in the vampyre’s presence and drape garlic around one’s neck. It was highly unusual to see Forge during the day, but it was overcast outside and the sun hid behind the clouds.
“Evans here has tallied all the stock from the last shipment and worked out each man’s cut. We just need the coin to pay everyone,” Jimmy said.
For once, Ewan was grateful for his unkempt appearance. He had forgone shaving for the last few days as he didn’t want to deal with the intimacy of Alice scraping away the hair. He couldn’t think of shaving and Alice without imagining her straddling his lap as she groomed him.
“Good to hear Evans is proving his worth.” Forge approached and picked up one of the sheets. His attention seemed to be on the neat columns of numbers, and his act might fool another man. Not Ewan. He saw the sly way Forge’s eyes tracked sideways under his brows, studying the newest member of his group.
Ewan let his injured hand curl, the jagged scar that decorated his forearm visible under the edge of his pushed up sleeve. “I do what I can. Did my information prove useful?”
“Indeed,” Forge murmured. “Two crews south of Hythe were caught and lost all their goods, boats, and their freedom. They now languish in gaol waiting to be sentenced to deportation in the colonies. Thanks to you, we shall be able to keep your lovely wife supplied with tea and company.”
Ewan stared at the quill and wondered how far it would go into the other man’s eye socket. The wolf roused to hear Alice’s name cross the traitor’s lips, and the creature longed to wrap its jaws around the man’s thin neck. Instead, he mentally tugged his forelock and remembered his place. “She is most grateful for the tea you gave us and to see me gainfully occupied.”
Forge made a noise in his throat and his gaze drifted back to the tally. “We’re doing well. We are on track.”
“You have quite a quantity of brandy stored here. Might I ask why?” Ewan took a risk and threw out the innocent sounding question while he squinted at the quill as though deciding if he needed a new nib.
A dead black gaze turned to him. One corner of Forge’s lip curled upward and revealed a sharp canine. “Not that it is any of your concern, but I have been waiting for the right moment to release my stock.”
“Of course sir, I was simply curious as to the long term strategy.” Ewan screwed the lid back on the ink pot. “I’m certainly grateful for the work. It will enable me to provide for Alice, rather than her having to work every day.” Words of gratitude nearly choked in his throat, but he would say them to play his role.
Forge placed the sheet back on the barrel. “Oh, don’t be in such a hurry for her to quit the tavern. The men do like her pie.”
Jimmy laughed and the tension broke.
“With the last shipment, I believe I have enough to move forward. Soon we’ll start moving my stock to my contacts. We’ll need all the men when we do that. I want it dispatched as quickly as possible.” Forge stared at Ewan for a moment longer, then he gave a brief nod. “Evans.”
One word and he left, dissolving back into the shadows.
Soon we’ll start moving my stock. Ewan was running out of time. Earlier he had feigned his leg giving out and crashed into one of the barrels. Whatever was sealed within didn’t move with the fluidity of liquid but the thump and slide of more solid items.
Dark fell early on a gloomy day, and evening found Ewan in the same corner, watching Alice work. Each night, she moved a little easier among the tight pack of patrons. Each night, she grew a little more into her new skin. Ewan marvelled at the changes time had wrought. He remembered the frail creature Aunt Maggie and Ianthe had helped from Bedlam. Her very nature had been insubstantial, as though she were an apparition made of mist and dust.
Now she grew in confidence. She learned how to handle the attacks of panic that threatened to overwhelm her. And more importantly, he’d taught her how to protect herself both mentally and physically. Alice was no longer a victim, but a confident woman who drew men to her.
Other changes occurred around them as Ewan settled into his new role as bookkeeper for the smugglers. More men s
topped to talk to him, to trade war stories, or simply discuss the political climate. Bit-by-bit, or slice-by-slice of pie, the locals drew them into their embrace. Alice’s kind nature allowed her to make friends with Gaffie, Daisy, and the other women. The men who frequented the tavern certainly appreciated a pretty face, and her pie added to her reputation.
Ewan had his place in the gang now and had met Forge without any flicker of recognition passing between them. He would assume Alice’s spell worked, up until the point he found himself tied to an anchor and feeding fish. His plan advanced, and all he needed to do was lay a trap and to find a way to be alone with the vampyre without the hulking mass of Jimmy at his back.
Alice approached his table with a plate in her hand. She set it before him. “The last slice. I nearly had to pull a knife on a man who tried to take it.”
Before she could dart away, he took her hand and kissed her palm. “Thank you for gallantly defending my pie.”
She stared at her hand. Then she turned it over and tucked it into her apron pocket. “You’re my husband; of course I would make sure you have the last piece.”
There was so much he would say to her, but words dissolved on his tongue and slid back down his gullet. He wanted her. The need burned through his veins, and the thought of possessing her was all that kept his wolf clinging to life. It took all his control to stop himself from having her. She had endured too much to be used by another man.
But where was the line between pretend and actual feelings? They acted their parts, but each morning when he awoke with her pressed against him, he had trouble remembering that he must not love her. He would gladly dip himself in silver if in exchange she were happy and cherished. And pleasured.
Other men in the tavern cast her sideways glances, yet she seemed unaware of them. A new and strange emotion clawed into existence in his chest—jealousy. Never before had Ewan wanted something he couldn’t have, and it made his teeth ache.
What if there was a way? His wolf whispered. What would you do to keep her?
Ewan picked a fork and teased loose a bite of pie. He knew the answer to that question. If it were at all possible, he would do anything to keep her.
21
Alice
* * *
As Alice walked away from Ewan, her palm itched. His kiss was such a gentle, intimate act that it stole her breath. She had struggled to find something to say to him as her mind tried to decipher what his action meant. He tortured her with gentle words and soft caresses, all the while saying they could never be together.
She wanted to ball her hands into fists and burst into tears. The infuriating man would send her screaming back to Bedlam if he carried on like this. Something needed to change between them. As a first step, Alice needed an honest explanation from her husband as to why she wasn’t suitable to be with him. In her opinion, their broken pieces seemed to fit together perfectly. Or was she deluded?
Alice was yanked out of her musings when Daisy grabbed her hand and pulled her into the kitchen. The woman glowed and her brown eyes sparkled with vitality that wasn’t from Alice’s glamour, but entirely natural.
“It worked.” She practically squealed the words, bouncing on her toes with excitement.
Alice smiled. At least someone was receiving loving attention. “I’m so pleased.”
“It was just like when we were first married. He couldn’t keep his hands off me last night. Or this morning. Thank you.” Daisy wrapped her arms around Alice and hugged her.
Alice closed her eyes and bit back her sob. If only a bath and a simple love spell could bring her and Ewan together. But their issues were far deeper than finding a forgotten love, for that implied there was any to begin with.
Ewan said the defect was his, not hers. He said he was too broken to ever be able to love. Did that likewise mean Alice, broken as well, was incapable of love? It didn’t feel that way. Her entire body ached for him, and it was far deeper rooted than a physical need.
What you seek will yet be found with Ewan, just don’t give up on him, a voice she had heard before whispered in her ear.
Alice dragged her attention back to the ecstatic and well-loved Daisy. At least one woman in Seabrook was deliriously happy. “I’m glad things are working for you and Jimmy. Remember to keep up with the regular baths, and I’ll make you a supply of ensorcelled herbs to add to the water.”
Daisy hugged her again and danced from the kitchen. Alice used the subsequent moment of quiet to pat the turnspit dog. It broke her heart to see a canine so neglected. Eilidh meant the world to her and Alice assumed everyone would love the dog that resided under their particular roof. The turnspit dog might have an ugly face, but that didn’t mean he should be deprived of affection. She scratched behind his ears and wondered how her terrier would take to another dog joining their little family.
“We’re both trapped, my friend, running as fast as we can to stay in one spot. Let’s see if I can figure out a way for us both to break free,” Alice whispered.
The dog thumped his tail and went back to sleep. Alice wiped a lone tear from her cheek, schooled her face into a pleasant smile, and pushed back into the main room.
The tavern was quieter tonight, and the fiddler played a slow tune. Jimmy took Daisy by the hand and spun her into his arms, much to the delight of his wife. Daisy giggled as they danced around the tables. Jimmy did resemble a bull let loose in the tavern, but the grin on his face was worth the occasional knocked over mug.
It gladdened Alice to see the young couple rekindle their relationship. She glanced to Ewan, who likewise watched the dancers but made no move towards her. Not that he could dance. The poultice was working and drawing the silver from his body, but the relief seemed temporary. She had hoped each day would see an improvement, until he was fully recovered and able to shift into his wolf again. An arrogant thought, given she was a diluted, fourth-generation mage blood. But what she would give for Ewan to hold her for just a few slow steps.
Distant memories formed within the mist that clouded her mind. She remembered laughing under a crystal chandelier as a young nobleman held her in his arms while she taught him the steps to the scandalous waltz. Once, she had been a carefree woman who laughed often and delighted in fripperies and parties. A sliver of that woman remained in one torn corner of soul, and she longed to dance again.
A man stopped before her and gave a courtly bow, out of place in the rough Dancing Sow. He held out his left arm. “Might I have the pleasure of this dance?”
Callum Forge. Alice’s heart stopped for a beat then started again. Did she dare dance in the arms of a traitorous vampyre? But then given his standing in the tight-knit community, she couldn’t refuse.
Inside her mind, the bright young woman ran and hid in her secure chamber, bolted the door, and let the fierce wolf Eilidh out to patrol. Outwardly, Alice exuded calm as she placed her hand on his forearm.
“I would be delighted—thank you, Mr Forge.” She didn’t dare glance at Ewan as she stepped into a clear space with Forge and the man placed a hand at her waist.
“Callum,” he whispered against her ear. “I would have you call me Callum, now you and your man are part of my family.”
Memories of how Hoth lured and won her flared hot and bright in her mind. Then wolf Eilidh snapped her jaws and tore the image into pieces. With her armour in place, Alice murmured, “As you wish, Callum.”
“A waltz, Freddy. Let us show the country folk what is scandalising the ton in London.” Dead black eyes pierced her soul. “I will teach you the steps, it’s a fairly simple dance.”
“I know how to waltz,” she replied.
The fiddler struck up the tune and Forge led the way. He held her hand a little too tight in his chill flesh. Alice suppressed the shiver that wanted to work down her spine.
No emotion registered on his face that the barmaid could waltz. Not even a flicker of curiosity. As he held her close, Alice realised there was no rise and fall of his chest and no breath fill
ed his lungs. He truly was dead. Until this moment she thought such a creature impossible, even as she accepted that Ewan was a lycanthrope and that ghosts roamed the countryside trying to talk to loved ones left behind.
“How did a village lass come to learn the waltz?” he asked.
They spun as they danced and Ewan flashed in and out of her view, giving her glimpses of a scowl drawing his black eyebrows together. “I spent some time in London.”
Her partner’s unnerving flat eyes never wavered from her face. He didn’t need to look where he was going because everyone else got out of his way. “Well, aren’t you just a mystery. Did you work as a lady’s maid and glimpse your mistress practising in private? Or did you learn elsewhere?”
He didn’t scare her with his softly spoken words masking the stench of death that clung to him. “The waltz was just one of many skills I learned as a courtesan.”
Still nothing registered, but he tilted his head to one side as he inspected her. “A woman of the world. How refreshing. I do find country conversation dull at times.”
The music flowed over her limbs as Alice danced and shook a little of her sad mood away—she could still enjoy the music even if she didn’t get to dance with her choice of partner. “You are something of a mystery, yourself. You seem an educated man; what drove you to bury yourself in the countryside?”
“I am an enterprising individual, and I am here to set myself up for a very long and prosperous life. There is a fortune to be made during war, if one knows where to look.” He spun her again and his hand tightened on her waist. Long nails dug through her rough wool dress.
“Particularly if one looks to the east at night,” she murmured.
He barked a short laugh, but it was a cold sound like the crack of frost. “Such an intelligent and civilised woman. You are wasted on the likes of Evans, who has no prospects. You would be the perfect adornment for a wealthy man. Your conversation would relieve dreary days.”
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