The Wolf of Haskell Hall

by Colleen Shannon

  In fact, she took a quick step toward him before she was able to leash her anger. “Lowering yourself to visit the family grave, my lord? If you’re truly the rightful heir, that is, and even deserve the title. Or did you usurp that the way you desecrate everything that strikes your fancy?”

  “Oh, my father made me rightful heir, all right.”

  “I cannot believe your father embraced you as his heir if you were…illegitimate.”

  Anger flashed in his eyes. “He loved my mother far more than his legal wife. But he was already married when they met, and had been for some time. My stepmother was an invalid, believed to be barren. When Lydia went away to have me, and no one saw my stepmother for almost a year, well, few dared question my birth. She was a Griffith, poor and unwed. She loved me enough to give me away, knowing I’d have a better future as my father’s heir.”

  “Preston surely questioned the inheritance when he got older.”

  “Preston idolizes me. He was a surprise baby, and he came along only after my mother died and there was something of a reconciliation between my father and my stepmother. Preston is glad to be a second son, and I am always generous with him. But it is to my mother that I owe the legacy that means more to me.” He glanced at Lydia’s headstone.

  It was true Preston obviously followed his brother’s lead. But she only found Thomas’s hypocrisy distasteful, for Lydia’s grave had been as neglected as the rest. “Then why don’t you embrace her legacy fully. Stay out on the moors with the other ruthless animals where you belong?” Lil glanced at the road into the village, teeming now with mob-capped maids running errands, farmers fetching supplies, and housewives meeting to knit and gossip on one another’s porches. “Better yet, embrace it now, at this moment.”

  A nasty smile that reminded Lil of the wolf’s smirk curled Thomas’s full mouth. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, to have half your villagers see me transform? I ever aim to please a lady–oh, excuse me, in your case, perhaps I should say fallen woman–but even I haven’t figured out the art of changing in full daylight. Yet. Luckily for you.”

  “And you. How would you explain all those frightful tears to your tailor?” She’d never admit it, but the insult stung a little. Lil turned a haughty shoulder to him and began to walk back toward the village. When Thomas kept step, there wasn’t much she could do to stop him, but Jeremy walked behind him, his hands gripping the shotgun firmly, not quite pointing it, but ready to, if necessary.

  Thomas certainly caught the hint, for he was very careful not to brush against Lil as they walked. “Don’t you want to know why I followed you?”

  The blatant admission only angered Lil more. “No. But I’m sure you’ll tell me anyway.”

  “Quite so. To be blunt, my dear Miss Haskell, your quest is at an end. Unhappily so. You see, Ian’s cure was always literally at his feet. The answer lies in the inscription on our ancestor’s grave. One neither of you is capable of deciphering, apparently, or you would already have done so.”

  Lil stopped mid-step. “Do you honestly think I’d believe anything you tell me? If you know the cure, why haven’t you used it yourself?” Even as she asked the question, Lil knew why merely from the look on that handsome, detestable face.

  He didn’t want to be cured.

  He was a man who lived for the thrill of power and dominance, so why would he willingly cede his advantage over mere mortals?

  “Perhaps I want to help you see the futility of your goal. Consider this your last warning, your last chance to run back to America. I have seldom met a woman I respected, much less admired, but you face adversity with the bravery of a man, so I will accord you a similar courtesy. In a word, Ian Griffith will die a werewolf, a member of my pack, subservient to me–or he will die two days from now, neither wolf nor man, and I shall reluctantly put him out of his misery. Either way, he is lost to you. While I much admire your refusal to leave him the other night while we were….occupied, your loyalty is misplaced.”

  “You tried to kill him at the ball and failed.”

  “Are you so certain? How do you know I didn’t mortally wound him? No one has seen him, have they?”

  Lil’s lashes flickered as she tried to hold those cold, dead eyes, but that was her only hint that she’d worried about the same thing. “I’d know if Ian were dead.” And she would, somehow. She’d hurt him, yes, but there was still a bond of blood between them that could never be broken in this world, and probably not in the next.

  Her steadfast faith seemed to anger Thomas, for he hissed and clenched his fists, taking a step toward her. The nudge of Jeremy’s shotgun in his back calmed him quickly enough, however, for he stopped.

  Hands thrust into his pockets, he used his tongue as a weapon instead. “The only reason I haven’t killed him yet is because my mother loved him, and because he followed where I led. Your arrival spoiled the balance of power between us. If I’m forced into killing him, you’ll have only yourself to blame.”

  Lil knew he’d intended to hurt her, so she didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing that he’d struck at her most vulnerable weakness: guilt. She struck back without hesitation. “If you kill him, I’ll hunt you down like the dog you are, if it takes me to my dying day.” Lil could have kicked herself–and him–at her careless choice of words.

  Naturally, he pounced on them. “Which could come very soon. If you persist in this foolish defiance. And yet, I should regret it if you force me into such violence. Even the other night, I only intended to frighten you.”

  Lil couldn’t squelch a scoffing sound.

  “Truly. Why do you think I’m facing you in full daylight, on my best behavior, to warn you if I wish you ill?”

  That was the cogent question. This time, Lil wisely remained silent. Listening always garnered more information from men of his stamp, for they so liked to talk about their own superiority.

  As he immediately proved. “When we were boys, Ian and I used to play together on occasion. He couldn’t best me then at any of our harmless little contests of skill and strength. And he certainly shan’t best me now I am so much stronger.”

  “And more ruthless.”

  He nodded that lordly head. “You can accept this, give up and return to America, or…” He leaned so close that his breath stirred the hair at her temples, and for a moment, the chill in those stygian eyes warmed a few degrees. “You can join us. Two nights from now. At the Druid ruins outside the village. So we can complete what destiny began. Are you truly as brave as a man? If so, consider my gage tossed at your feet.” He tipped his hat to her. “Good day, Miss Haskell.” And he walked off, his steps soundless on the cobblestones.

  Jeremy, with his usual economy, put Lil’s feelings into action. He spat on the spot where Thomas had stood. “I’ve met some devious shysters in me time, but that un,” Jeremy spat again. “He could give an eel lessons on bein’ slippery. Ye won’t go near them heathen remains, me girl. If I have to hog-tie ye and sit on ye.”

  “Of course not.” Not unless it’s strictly necessary. “That’s exactly what he wants.” Lil led the way toward their carriage, but when she passed the vicarage, on impulse she turned back around and tapped on the door.

  One part of Thomas’s fustian she believed: he knew the cure for the Griffith lycanthropy. And if the secret lay in deciphering that inscription, then she’d spend every waking hour of the next two days, and part of her sleeping hours, if necessary, on anagrams. And who better to help her than a brilliant man who loved anagrams?

  When Vicar Holmes himself came to the door and ushered her inside, Lil turned to Jeremy. “Somehow, we have to warn Ian, tell him Thomas is planning something at the Druid stones in two nights. Will you look for him again?”

  “But–” At Lil’s expression, Jeremy bit back his protests and nodded shortly. “Aye. Again. But how will ye get home?”

  “I’ll bring her myself, after tea,” the vicar offered.

  Lil hesitated. Despite her urgency to find Ian, she�
�d never supplied any of the search parties with directions to his own private Eden. That was sacrosanct, and he’d never forgive her if she gave away its location, even to help him. But now she was worried about more than his dignity, or even his trust.

  She feared for his life. Lil whispered in Jeremy’s ear the directions to the cleft in the rock face and pressed the note she’d hastily scribbled into Jeremy’s hand. “If you find him, give him this. And please, tell no one else. Go alone. Ian won’t hurt you, but take Shelly, just in case.”’ If need be, Shelly could help protect Jeremy. Lil almost smiled, wishing she could be there when Jeremy’s ‘ducky’ became a wolf. The look on his face….

  Jeremy scowled. “Shelly’s acting right queer enough, lately, without chasin’ after werewolves who ‘won’t hurt you.’” Jeremy raised his voice, imitating Lil’s higher tones on the last few words, and then he was gone.

  Lil had the grace to flush under the vicar’s steady gaze. “Truly, I don’t believe Ian will hurt Jeremy. He’s not of Haskell blood, and he’s the best man I’ve ever seen at emerging unscathed in dangerous situations. Besides, we’ve little time to waste….” Quickly, Lil filled the vicar in on Thomas’s threats.

  “This cure. Do you think it will help my cousin, too?”

  For the first time, Lil saw fear in those pale blue eyes, but not fear for himself. He must truly love his cousin. She replied, “I honestly do not know. And until we decipher the words on that headstone, we’re helpless.”

  Immediately, the vicar rose and pulled papers out of a drawer, handing them to Lil. Lil thumbed through them, and her spirits, already low, sank to a new nadir. Vicar Holmes had tried every possible anagram, it seemed to her, rearranging the letters by word, then by assigning them a rank order, those closest to the beginning of the alphabet used in the first word, and so on. He’d even tried numeric substitutions.

  “Nothing but gibberish, as you can see. Shelly was going to try, also, but I’ve always been somewhat better at word games than she.”

  Lil stared at the translation he’d written down, but she didn’t have to read it. The words were already emblazoned on her brain. 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.

  “Maybe we’re being too complicated,” Lil said, tossing the papers aside in frustration. “Was she an educated girl?”

  “Yes. A rich matron from the parish took a liking to her and even sent her away to finishing school. The old gypsy woman from the village told me only one person in her family had ever been able to solve the riddle.”

  “Who?” Lil braced herself, half expecting the answer. It came quickly enough.

  “Lydia. Ian’s older sister. But he was still just a boy when she died, far too young for us to know if the curse would fall on him or not, so I suppose that’s why she didn’t share her knowledge with him.”

  “Did you know Thomas is actually Lydia’s son, and that he’s a Griffith, too?”

  The vicar hesitated, and then nodded. “I suspected as much. He’s the other werewolf, isn’t he?”

  “Yes. I think Lydia must have told him her interpretation of the headstone from her deathbed. But do you think he’ll share it with Ian? Not for a king’s ransom, or the cost of his own soul, which he’s obviously already bartered to the devil.” Agitated, Lil stood to look out the window. The bright new penny day seemed obscenely picturesque in her frame of mind.

  Day….How could day steal the night? Bones. Stones. Wait. Hate. There was no commonality to the references at all, as far as Lil could see. And yet, if the words were not an anagram, there must be some significance to them. Thomas seemed so certain of the date, two days away when the full moon was at its zenith. And since the moon was the source of all the trouble, maybe that’s what the gypsy girl had meant by night. What could block the moon?

  Lil whirled, her dark green eyes sparkling again. “A lunar eclipse! Do you know if there’s a lunar eclipse expected two nights hence?”

  “Why yes. I subscribe to the publication of the Royal Astronomical Society, and it will be this part of Cornwall’s first full lunar eclipse in almost…” The vicar’s mild blue eyes widened to saucers.

  “A century!” Lil filled in for him. “This has to be it! The wait–a hundred years. The day steals the night–the lunar eclipse. Now where would one find stones and bones…the gypsy cemetery?”

  “The poor gypsy lass was the first Griffith buried there. No, I don’t think she would have invoked her curse upon a place so close to the village she loved.”

  “Where was she found, again? Out on the moors, I know, but could it have been near the Druid ruins?”

  “I don’t know the exact location, but from all accounts, it could have been there.”

  “Are there any burials near it?”

  “Not that I know of, at least not of any gypsies. There was an ancient tomb found beneath the altar stones some years back, but it held no remains. The gypsies, in fact, avoid the place, believing it cursed.”

  “And if that’s where she lost her virtue to my not-so-esteemed ancestor,” Lil pointed out, “then she’d have every reason to despise the place. Where better to end the curse than where it began?”

  “Yes, but how? Merely exposing Ian to the eclipse is surely not enough.”

  “I have to find Ian. Between the two of us, we can figure out the last clue.” An eye for an eye, a hate for a hate.

  “Are you sure that’s wise?”

  The concern stopped Lil with her hand on the doorknob. Slowly, she turned back to look unflinchingly into those penetrating eyes that reminded her so much of Shelly’s equally astute gaze. All the feelings she’d bottled for days, a volatile mixture of hope and despair, poured from her into sympathetic ears. “Wise? No. What do you wish me to say? That I’m afraid? That the savagery Ian used in defeating Thomas the other night terrifies me? That I dread the very thought that perhaps, now he’s learned to accept what he is, he’ll learn to like it, too, as Thomas has? All these things are true. I’d be wise to barricade myself in my mansion and not show my face again until the eclipse is passed. Wiser still to run straight back to Colorado. Wisest of all to forget such a wonderful man as Ian Griffith even exists, especially as he seems to have cast off his humanity with his clothes. But the Trents are no wiser than the Haskells, and we could well have the same motto: I will neither yield to the song of the siren, nor the voice of the hyena, the tears of the crocodile, nor the howling of the wolf.’” Quietly, Lil exited and closed the door.

  Just as quietly, she eased back in, blushing at the vicar’s laugh. “In my high dudgeon, I forgot I have no carriage. Do you mind taking me back to the estate?”

  The vicar pretended to consider the request. “And be alone with a firebrand such as yourself?”

  “I guess I deserve that. But I promise I shan’t eat you.”

  “My dear Miss Haskell, you deserve the best good fortune that can be bestowed upon a person: luck earned. I find your bravery and your resolve an inspiration, and I shall do all in my small power to help you find your happiness during these two days, and hope that whatever cures Ian shall also cure my cousin.” He escorted her outside, up into his old but serviceable barouche.

  But as they drove back to the estate, Lil didn’t have heart to tell him that she had her worries about Shelly’s state of mind, too. Shelly hadn’t seemed any too upset at her malady, nor overly concerned about finding a cure.

  And if being a werewolf was so seductive to one of Shelly’s intellect and moral fortitude, how would a basically decent, gentle man of Griffith blood resist that siren lure?

  Keeping a good distance back from the barouche, Ian covered the marsh in a ground-eating, effortless lope. The longer he remained in this lithe form, the more appealing it became. Odd how the fate he’d wandered the world to escape now seemed so alluring. Since the night of the ball, he’d watched Lil from afar. Close enough to
see, and smell, and sense it if she were in danger, but far enough away to evade the search parties. Some Lil sent, some the sheriff sent, but a man’s brain in the agility of the wolf offered huge advantages for an escapee. It was ridiculously easy to disguise his tracks by doubling back on them, or swimming through a bog, or climbing a tree.

  A few days ago, he’d clung to the upper trunk of a dying oak and watched the sheriff and the dozen men he’d recruited from the village walk beneath him. If they’d bothered to look up….but they didn’t expect a wolf to climb trees.

  Only once had Ian been tempted to assume human form again. When he watched Delilah clean the last headstone. She did so with such aching loss, and loneliness, as if she felt, through her contact with the bones of his people, their own ostracism. Occasionally, she’d look up, through the woods, seeming to peer straight into the reeds where he hid, and once, even from the distance, he saw tears catch an errant ray of sunlight.

  In that moment, it was as if she’d reached out to touch him. It was for him, that she did this humbling task. The richest woman in the county on her hands and knees scrubbed to honor the forgotten remnants of a despised race. His people, she said with every movement of that brush, were her people. And he’d so longed to believe her, to hope that despite their differing social rank, the curse, her fear of him, that somehow, the finer feelings between them could form a bridge across the mesalliance she’d have to accept if she wed him one day. When he was cured. If he was cured.

  Before he paused to think, or remember his own hurt, Ian felt himself changing, his forelegs beginning to form into arms again. On that conscious man’s level that was becoming increasingly more difficult for him to heed, he was surprised at his own ability. Even Thomas hadn’t figured out the way of shape shifting in daylight. What this meant for Ian’s future, such as it was, he couldn’t say, and for the moment, he didn’t care. He only wanted to hold Lil again, maybe for the last time. As a man.