The Wolf of Haskell Hall

by Colleen Shannon

  To Lil’s amusement, Thomas reddened at Shelly’s implication. Lil realized Thomas had no interest in seeing the sheriff. Where the brothers were concerned, their version of justice for Ian came at a rope’s end. Lil wondered at Ian’s total stillness. This subservience was most unlike him, especially since his own fate–and hers–hung in the balance.

  Jerking his head at his brother, Thomas bypassed Shelly and went to the door.

  Finally Ian came alive with startling swiftness. He caught Thomas’s expensive jacket in both hands and shoved him against the wall. His eyes glowing amber, Ian growled like a beta wolf fighting to take over the pack, “The more carrion you eat, the fouler your breath becomes, and the more vultures will circle.”

  Thomas’s eyes darkened to shiny agates sharp enough to cut, and for a moment it seemed as though he would attack Ian. But he glanced out the grilled window at Jeremy, whose weapon was on the alert as he listened to every word.

  Looking back at his enemy, Thomas used a verbal attack instead. It, too, was of the worst sort: straight past muscle and bristle to the heart. “I leave the carrion for inferiors like you, Ian.”

  Every muscle in Ian’s body stiffened, and for an instant, the wolf looked out of his eyes. Thomas’s white teeth bared in a challenging grimace, and Lil almost thought she heard snarling as they circled one another. Closer. Closer. Uncaring of who might be in the way.

  But then, with a glance at her, Ian took a deep breath and his amber eyes went opaque. He backed off, turning his face to the wall again.

  Swiping his brow in relief, Preston grabbed his brother’s arm and shoved Thomas out the door Jeremy still guarded. Unable to help herself, Lil caught Ian’s arm. He quivered with reaction, and his wild scent in her nostrils was the same one she’d smelled during the full moon.

  With a glance between Lil and Ian, Shelly also exited, leaving a lantern behind. But the shifting, dancing light only delineated the stifling confines of the cell as the footsteps faded.

  Then Lil was alone with the half-man, half-wolf who haunted her, waking and sleeping, in both God-given and God-forsaken forms. Ever stronger with each breath she took, the unspoken but unbreakable bond of blood pulsed between them. In the quietude of her thoughts, Lil knew she only had to walk out of this grim, depressing place to be greeted by a day that made mock of such things as curses and murder most foul.

  Yet she could not. She felt more than heard her heart pounding in her ears, felt more than heard his own strong heart echoing in response. Whether she excited him or made him hungry, whether he wanted to share his blood with her or drink her own, she honestly could not say.

  Had any woman ever faced such a dilemma? This man was her lover and her predator. Still, she could not run.

  Instead, in the power of that moment, Lil looked at Ian through human eyes and wished for lupine sensibilities. How much easier it would be if she could run by his side, seeing movement beyond human understanding and hearing the subtle heart beat of the moors. They’d be bound by no silly mores, foolish gossip or restrictive laws.

  But freedom always had a price, too.

  She’d have to kill to eat. She’d enjoy that no more than Ian obviously did. She’d drink brackish water, sleep on the ground, learn to avoid all remnants of her former civilization.

  She couldn’t face that, either. Her mouth set stubbornly. There had to be a way to bring him back to her world. But first she had to get him out of here. “I’ll speak to the sheriff myself. I’ll post an astronomical bond, promise to keep you locked in the stables–”

  Ian’s voice was so hoarse she scarcely recognized it. “No Lil, leave it be. I need to learn to live in walls and you need to learn that some deeds are too dark for illumination.”

  “Nothing is too dark for understanding, Ian.”

  He reached out as if he longed to stroke the resolute curves of her mouth, but his hand dropped and clenched into a fist. “With understanding, goes fear. You need to fear me, Lil. Never forget that. If you could gaze into my soul, and know what I see….” He trailed off as if he couldn’t finish the terrible thought.

  Trying not to remember the pathetic sprawled figure of the girl who had once been Ian’s lover, too, Lil brushed his tousled hair back. “Then maybe you’re not looking in the right place. Look in your heart, Ian.”

  Some of the despair faded from his eyes. “You can say that to me after what you…..saw?”

  “How can I be certain you killed her since you’re obviously not certain yourself?”

  “You’re willing to gamble your life on a guess?”

  “No, but I’ll gamble it on a belief. You see, I know enough of Ian Griffith to realize that no matter how many mountains he climbed, or countries he explored, the one thing he needed most could only be given to him. And that’s why I’m still here. That’s why I didn’t go running home to Denver. Because I believe in you. Even if you killed the girl, you must have had a very good reason. The man I made love with, the man who risked his life for his miners, is not capable of capricious killing. And I believe when you look deep inside yourself and see the goodness that I see, the moon will have no more power over you.”

  With the soft growl of an animal in pain, Ian caught her shoulders and brought her into his arms. He didn’t kiss her; he didn’t caress her; he only held her. As if he wanted to absorb some of her goodness into himself. And Lil wrapped her arms tightly about his shoulders, wishing her faith in him were a magical cloak that could render them both invincible to all the evils yet to come.

  Then Ian’s warm breath was in her ear as he whispered, “I love you, Lil. I love you fiercely, as a wanderer who has known much passion, but little love. I love you as freely as a wolf who chooses his own mate. And I love you as deeply as a man who is not fit to kiss your hem, much less–”

  “Kiss what’s under it?” Lil hiccuped over a half laugh, half sob, knowing she had to relieve the emotion of the moment or fly to pieces in his arms. She felt his smile against her brow, but he tensed slightly. Waiting. And she knew what he wanted, what every person wanted when they offered their deepest affections.

  Somehow, she couldn’t say it yet. In her heart, she knew it to be true, that this wild fascination went beyond the sexual, but Lil Haskell was every bit as independent as Delilah Trent. If she was to believe in him enough to offer her sacred promise of love, then he must believe in her enough to let her find a cure. Maybe even to endanger her along the way, for only bold, decisive action would save them now. Why was it that only men were allowed to be champions on the field of valor? Courtly love meant just as much to women, no, even more.

  When she didn’t answer, his face went blank. He set her away from him and went to that secret place within himself that no one could trespass upon. She could reach out and touch him, but Lil had never felt the divide between them more acutely than she now, across this mere five feet of space.

  It was one society had put in place. And one only they could bridge.

  Lil hurried out the door to keep from bursting into tears. But as the door closed, Ian’s desperate face pressed against the tiny bars.

  “Delilah! Promise me you won’t go to the ball tonight. Thomas and Preston are not what they seem.”

  “I beg to differ. They’re exactly what they seem! Somehow I will find a way to prove that, too, along with the fact that cures exist for virtually any ailment, including sheer stubbornness!.” Angry with his obduracy as well as her own, Lil exited with his pleas ringing in her ears. Why couldn’t he accept that she had the right to fight for his safety and happiness? For therein also lay her own. But then she hadn’t admitted as much to him, had she?

  As soon as she appeared on the floor above, Jeremy walked back down, locked the cell door and followed Lil out.

  Outside on the front steps, Lil and Jeremy found Shelly speaking to Vicar Holmes. They broke off when they saw her, but didn’t remark on the tears in her eyes. Clearing her throat to steady her voice, Lil asked, “Have you had a chance to loo
k at the inscription on the headstone yet, Shelly?”

  Shelly replied, “Yes.”

  Lil waited, but when Shelly remained silent Lil probed, “And what did it say?”

  “Something too obscure even for me. The rough translation would be, ‘When bright day steals the night my heart is a stone. Oh curse of delight, honor these bones. For this legacy I was born, and for death I wait. An eye for an eye, a hate for a hate.’”

  Despite the bright beauty of the day, Lil felt an encroaching darkness consume her optimism. Even knowing the gypsy girl’s story, she found it hard to comprehend an enmity so complete that her very last words carry only venom, for all eternity. No wonder the curse was so strong.

  Shelly patted her arm. “Romany nonsense! The gypsies I’ve known were a merry lot. I wager this incantation has no more meaning than the senseless way the girl died.”

  “But where will we look now for the cure?”

  “I’m going into Plymouth. I’ll stop at the estate and send another carriage out for you, but I don’t think I should delay this trip any longer. I know a rare bookseller there who dabbles in the arcane arts. Perhaps he will be able to suggest something….You promise not to attend the ball tonight?”

  Quelling a twinge of conscience, knowing she didn’t dare delay Shelly’s search for a cure, Lil nodded. “I am fatigued. I will stay home.” Tomorrow. And the next day. It wasn’t really a lie, she told herself.

  Shelly relaxed slightly. “Good. I wouldn’t feel right about letting you attend alone.”

  Jeremy nodded. “Aye, mistress, if e’er two men stirred up a darker ill wind, I don’t remember them. Ye don’t mind waitin’ fer the extra carriage?”

  “Not at all, I have much to do in the village before I can leave, anyway,” Lil said.

  Decisively, Shelly turned for the carriage.

  Jeremy glared at her. “Ye ain’t goin’ without me, ducky.”

  Shelly gave him a cursory glance, as she would a picayune obstacle, and walked around him.

  To Lil’s amusement, Jeremy stuck his pistol back in his belt with the air of a man about to go off to war, and scurried in front of Shelly to block her from climbing into the carriage. “We can decide this quiet-like or public-like. Which is it to be, ducky?”

  Shelly said through her teeth, “If you call me ducky one more time, it will be your feathers flying, not mine.”

  Her hostility flowed off Jeremy like, well, water off a duck’s back. “Lord love ye, jest last night ye was a billin’ and cooin’–”

  Desperate to shut him up, Shelly shoved Jeremy onto the carriage seat. She was so overset that she even let him drive.

  Smiling, Lil waved them off, wishing she could be present to hear the conversational barbs that would be exchanged all the way to Plymouth. Then, with a last longing glance at the grainery, she paused to purchase flowers from a stand.

  She had a vow to keep, too. As she walked toward the gypsy cemetery, she tried not to think of the curse, but it rang in her ears anyway. “For death I wait. An eye for an eye, a hate for a hate.” And despite the warmth of the day, she shivered.

  Some hours later, with darkness approaching, Lil stared at the sheriff over the rough table that served as a desk.

  “Stuff and nonsense!” The bluff sheriff was a stolid, sensible man with stolid, sensible clothes, and a stolid, sensible temperament. He goggled at Lil through bugged eyes. “If Thomas and Preston Harbaugh are werewolves, I’m a bloody vampire.”

  Quelling her frustration, Lil kept her voice even. “How do you explain the boy’s death, then?”

  “Doubtless real wolves.”

  “An entire pack came into the village and no one saw them or even heard them?”

  The sheriff looked away. “That’s a mite easier for me to believe than the richest men hereabouts are such vile, unnatural creatures. Ian Griffith, on the other hand, is known to have brought in one victim and to have confessed to killing her. He’s always been an odd sort, too, roaming the moors day and night.” He bit the stem of his pipe as if to keep himself from saying something even more critical.

  How could Lil justify Ian’s innocence to a rightfully skeptical sheriff when she wasn’t sure of it herself? Still, she tried. “I know my estate manager very well. Half the people in this village will vouch for his character. And surely my own isn’t in question. I give you my solemn word that Ian will stay locked on my estate until the real killers are found, and brought to justice.”

  “From what I hear, Miss Haskell, you’re in no position to make promises in regards to your own safety, much less anyone else’s. Ian Griffith will stay here, right and tight, until I get to the bottom of this.” He stood, the issue obviously settled in his eyes.

  It was not, however, settled to Lil, but she swallowed back further protests and smiled as if acquiescing.

  That night, haunted by the memory of Ian’s despair at being locked up, Lil mechanically dressed for the ball. As Safira put the finishing touches on Lil’s ensemble, Lil recalled the last time she’d worn this gown. That had not been a happy occasion either. Her first Denver society ball after the death of her parents. Half the single men in Colorado, or so it had seemed at the time, had tried to win the new heiress’s favors. Tonight, the Harbaugh brothers would doubtless do the same, and Lil intended to hold them at bay with the same skills she’d perfected then.

  Sweet smiles. A full dance card. And an early exit. After she’d thoroughly investigated their home and grounds, if need be, looking for wolf spoor.

  Lil appraised herself in the mirror, thinking this dress, which cost more than the yearly wardrobe allowance of most middle class women, made a peculiar chain mail for a crusader against the forces of evil. But at least it would keep the brothers distracted

  Designed by a Paris modiste, the watered green silk perfectly matched her eyes. The mutton sleeves were trimmed in gold braid that matched the fleur de lis ornamenting the princess-lined skirt. The heart shaped bodice displayed her mother’s emerald necklace to perfection. But Lil was a woman of the world enough to know it wouldn’t be the jewelry they’d be watching. Lil twitched at the bodice, trying to pull it up. It slipped immediately back into place, her generous cleavage also on dazzling display.

  Quelling a stab of longing for Ian’s strong presence, Lil collected her tiny beaded gold reticule–coincidentally filled with silver leaves and cinders. But it was the weight of the derringer inside the bag that she found most comforting.

  Only when she turned to the door did Lil realize that Safira had dressed in her best finery as well. She wore a glittering silver turban that matched the silver stripes in her turquoise silk robes. Her bosom dripped with ornate turquoise silver jewelry that matched the four rings on each hand.

  The look she gave her friend was not one most employers would have tolerated, but Lil and Safira were more than just employer, employee.

  “Mistress, since Jeremy is gone I’m attending the ball with you tonight.” A statement, not a question. Still, for all her bravery, Safira’s voice trembled slightly. “If I cannot convince you not to go, that is.”

  Lil stared blindly at herself in the mirror again, missing Ian even more acutely. The knowledge of why he couldn’t go with her only drove her harder to beard the wolves in their den. Thomas and Preston would be too busy tonight to keep up with one small, wandering guest. She’d never have a better chance than now to investigate their study, look for some link to the Griffiths, or even search the grounds. Perhaps she’d find wolf hairs caught on a fence leading to the house, or maybe even the remains of one of their kills.

  That would be an embarrassing climax to their party, she thought with satisfaction. Besides, surely even Thomas, as bold and brazen as he was, wouldn’t risk transforming in the proximity of so many guests.

  Now. Or never. The memory of Ian’s misery cooped up in that foul place goaded her on. Strong enough to counteract her own quite natural fear. As for Safira’s….Lil looked back at her companion. The Haitian woman
was terrified, but resigned. She opened the door for Lil.

  Lil was touched at Safira’s fierce loyalty. The moors were–in her eyes at least–more savage than the jungles or mountains of the land of her birth. Lil kept her tone gentle and teasing. “Safira, if silver repels werewolves, not a pack alive can come near you. I’m honored that concern for me will force you from the safety of the house for the first time since your arrival, but truly there’s no need–”

  “There’s need aplenty. The visions grow worse, and I cannot sleep.”

  The teasing smile faded from Lil’s face. She couldn’t take any more dire warnings right now, so she didn’t ask for details of Safira’s latest visions. But since she was so hellbent and determined to face her own fears, she could hardly fault her companion for the same need. “Very well. We shan’t be staying long, anyway.”

  On the way out the door, Safira caught Lil’s arm. “The amulet?”

  Lil patted her reticule. “The perfect accessory for a werewolf huntress. And I thank you for making it for me. It’s already alerted me once.” She couldn’t quite bear telling her companion, who was almost as fond of Shelly as she was, that the stable manager was apparently in the early stages of lycanthropy herself.

  An appalling thought struck Lil. What if Shelly transformed on the return, when she was alone with Jeremy? Jeremy would never shoot his ‘ducky.’

  But when Safira looked back at her expectantly, Lil quashed yet another worry amid a plethora of them and followed her companion downstairs, out the front door. As the coachman drove them over the moors and Safira kept her nose glued to the window half in fascination, half in fear, Lil tried to marshal her unruly thoughts into the proper discipline needed when one attended a social event.

  It was time to have fun. To dance. And to make merry.

  But Lil’s lecture to herself on the niceties carried more than a tinge of irony, punctuated as it was by the comforting weight of the derringer resting on her knees inside her reticule.