Tempting the Wolf (30 page)

Guilt and fear screamed through her in equal measures. What had happened at the cottage? She had not killed Winters. She had not. But he was dead. Just as the count of Colline was dead. Just like the miller’s son and her parents. She shuddered against her memories.

Wolves did not enter English cottages so near the village limits. Not normal wolves. Not unless bidden by some ungodly power.

He leaned toward her, catching her gaze. “Why must I not be here?” he asked again.

“Because I am—” She paused abruptly, catching her breath, her wits. “Because I am leaving England,” she said.

He narrowed his eyes slightly. “Leaving?”

“Yes,” she said and refused to drop her gaze, to look away, to beg him to touch her, to make her forget what she was, what she had done. “To Italy perhaps.”

Leaning sideways, he braced his hand upon the mattress on the far side of her hips and smiled. “And why would ye be doin’ that, lass?”

He knew! Suddenly, inexplicably, she was certain of it. He knew she was a witch. Perhaps he had known all along.

She held his gaze and ignored the hard ache in her chest.

“
I
believe you know why,” she said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I—”

“I dunna know why,” he countered.

She gritted her teeth. “You lie,” she rasped. “You’ve seen…” She paused, breathing hard. “You know what people are saying.”

“Do I?”

She raised her chin. “They are saying that I am…” She swallowed. “Ill luck.”

“Truly?” He reached for her hand again, but she snatched it away, hiding it beneath the covers. “I haven’t heard that.”

“They think I killed Lady Trulane’s dog.” Her voice was no more than a weathered whisper.

“The little mongrel what growled at me at each passing?”

She nodded.

“I admit, I wished it dead meself on more than one occasion.”

” ‘Tis no laughing matter.”

“Very well,” he said. “What else?”

“The old man… on the east end.” Her voice was very soft, her eyes wistful.

“Cush,” he said.

She pinned her gaze to his. “What?”

His eyes smiled with gentle understanding. “I followed you to his house, love. He was verra ill, was he na?”

“Yes. He reminded me of my grandfather before my life…” Her voice failed her. “But he was in great pain and deep in debt to the lady who employed him.” She shook her head. It felt heavy with her failure.

“Ye canna save everyone, lass. Especially if they dunna wished to be saved.”

“Amelia,” she whispered. “I should not have touched…” She swallowed, struggled. “They think ‘twas me who has caused her illness.”

He shrugged. “They are wrong. ‘Tis oft the case.”

“Winters,” she whispered and felt her soul shudder at the memories. “He’s dead.”

His smile dropped away, and his eyes glinted a hard, glacial blue. “Aye,” he said. “He is that.”

“Because of me?” It was a question of sorts, a whisper from her aching soul.

“No, lassie, because of himself. Because of his own evil. He was yer husband’s son and resented ye. ‘Twas his own sin. Na yers.”

She scowled, trying to believe, to accept, to… “How do you know that?”

His gaze bore into hers. “I guess much, lass, but

I’ve learned more. I have na spent me last few days in idleness as ye have.”

“Then you know—”

“That he planned to kill ye to regain his inheritance?” A muscle jumped, tight and angry in his jaw. “Aye, lass, I ken, as do yer friends.”

“I do not have friends,” she whispered.

“Do ye na, love?”

She shook her head. “Friends know…” She paused, fighting for breath, nodding sporadically. “They know things, and accept you just the same.”

“Aye, they do that,” he said, then, “come in,” he called, not turning away.

The door opened. Lady Glendowne stepped into the room, followed by Sir Hiltsglen. His face was somewhat flushed as he towered over his bride’s shoulder.

“Countess,” said Fleurette. In her hands was a bouquet of yellow roses in an earthenware vase. She set them on the bedstead and turned. “You are well?”

“Yes. I…” She glanced toward O’Banyon. “Yes,” she said. “I just had a bit of a mishap—”

“It is best he died afore I learned of his intent to harm ye,” rumbled Hiltsglen.

She skimmed her gaze restlessly to the Scotsman’s florid face.

He shifted his gaze to his bride. “Me wee wife does na appreciate violence.”

Antoinette opened her mouth, but Fleurette rushed in. “We owe you much, Lady Colline,” she said. “Had I not stayed at your chateau in Paris I would not have met Killian.”

“I remember the last time I visited Paris,” said Lady Trulane, entering rapidly. Two dogs were on a leash. A third, no bigger than a baguette, was cuddled in her arms. All three growled at O’Banyon. “I had tea with the duke of Firth.”

“Lady Trulane,” Antoinette said, glancing at O’Banyon, then at the baroness. “I don’t believe I got a chance to tell you how sorry I am about your pet.”

Tears flashed in the old woman’s eyes. She nodded. “Life goes on,” she said, then, “But what of you, countess? We have worried so.”

“Then you do not think I was responsible for—”

“My poor Harpie’s death. Don’t be absurd. ‘Twas Winters who set him loose.” Her eyes saddened. “I see now that he was mad. Sir O’Banyon here has explained everything. I had no idea he was your husband’s son. No idea he could plan to hurt you. But people will surprise you.” She stroked her puppy. “When I met Bonaparte, I thought him the most charming—”

“Antoinette—”

Lady Hendershire rushed into the room. Her husband bustled in behind, beaming happily.

“Amelia,” Antoinette breathed. “You are well?”

“Well?” The girl laughed, her face flushed with happiness. “Have you not heard? I am… we are… expecting a child.”

Antoinette flashed her gaze to O’Banyon. He merely watched her, blue eyes bright with some expression she could not quite interpret, had maybe never seen.

“No,” she said. “I didn’t know.”

“I was sick every morning and eve, and yet it never occurred to me to think…” She laughed again. “Well, ‘tis not a simple task to think at all when one has her head buried in the chamber pot. But I am well now and we owe my health and that of our child to you.”

Antoinette shook her head.

“Had you not fished me out of the waters I would not be here today,” she said and reaching out, crossed the floor toward the bed.

Antoinette drew back. “I fear I cannot—”

“She canna entertain guests over-long,” O’Banyon said and catching Amelia’s hand in his own, kissed it. “But ‘tis kind of ye to come by. ‘Tis kind of all of ye. Indeed…” He loosed the baroness’s hand and turned toward Antoinette. Their gazes met with a clash. “We would like to invite ye all to the nuptials.”

“Nuptials?” she breathed, but the word was lost in a bevy of gasps and laughter and congratulations.

Conversation buzzed about the room for a moment, but O’Banyon was already herding them into the hall. The room fell silent as he turned his back to the door and watched her, eyes gleaming.

“Nuptials,” she said, calming nerves, steadying her head.

“Aye, lass,” he said and found his seat beside her once again.

“And who might be getting married, Irishman?” she asked.

His eyes laughed. “I believe if ye think on it, lass, ye’ll see the sense of it.”

“The sense of what?”

His mouth quirked up. “Me. In yer bed.”

Her heart stuttered, but she kept her face impassive. “I don’t believe I invited you.”

He laughed. “Methinks ye have.”

“
Non
,” she began, but at that moment he touched her face.

Magic struck her. Her eyes fell closed. “Please,” she whispered. “I must not. ‘Tis dangerous.”

He stroked her cheek. “Does this feel dangerous, lass?”

“Yes,” she whispered and he smiled.

“I’ll na hurt ye.”

“But I may—”

“And ye’ll na hurt me,” he added.

She watched him. So beautiful. So enchanting. So serene. “You know,” she whispered.

His fingers felt like sunlight and laughter against her skin. “What is it I know, love?”

“You know that I…” She couldn’t say it. Couldn’t force out the words. “I didn’t mean for Winters to die,” she rasped. “He—”

“I did.”

“I—” Her words stumbled to a halt. “What?”

“Look at me, lass,” he commanded, and took her hand. They arched against the magic, waited for it to wane. “Touch me,” he said and pressing his shirt aside, placed her palm against his chest. “Ye ken the truth.”

Feeling arced through her. Joy, hope, power. Her eyes snapped wide. ” ‘Twas you,” she rasped. “In the cottage. You were the beast.”

“Aye well…” he said and grinned. “Yer na one to find fault, are ye now, lassie, seein’ as how you’re a witch.”

She jerked her hand away as memories rushed in. Memories of Winters’s garbled scream, of Sibylla’s hand on the animal’s golden head.

His eyes, the azure eyes of a uncanny wolf, stared back at her.

” ‘Twas me quest, lass. Me mission. Tis why I was brought to this place, to this time. To be with ye. To save ye, as ye have surely—”

She shook her head, feeling frantic. “You don’t understand. I am…”

“Dangerous? Aye.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips. “That ye are, lass. Ye can kill and ye can heal. But which of us canna? And look what ye have done for me and Amelia, and wee Sibylla.”

Hope was a fragile blossom in her chest. “What have I done?”

“Ye have saved the lot of us.”

She loved him, blindly, hopelessly. “You did not need saving.”

“Oh, aye, lass, I did. For I was lost. Lost and broken and alone. But ye found me, healed me, bound yerself to me.”

“I never—”

“In truth, ye did,” he whispered, leaning close. “Whether ye know it or nay, we are one. Better together than alone. Stronger in concert than apart. Think on it, love. Think what we can do if we are but joined. You give your energy to others.

I give mine…” He slipped his hand down her bare arm. She shivered, enlightened, rejuvenated. “To you.”

“But…” Her mind whirled. “Sibylla—”

“Shall join us, of course. I’ve a wish to see Paris again, in me current form if ye please. She can journey there with us, and when we return—”

“We can pass her off as another.”

” ‘Twas your plan at the outset was it na?”

Her heart felt full. Tears blurred her vision. “I failed to plan on you.”

He laughed and the world seemed right, bright with hope and promise. “I be a hard thing to foresee lass, and ye…” His expression sobered. His fingers caught hers in a tight grip. His tone was hushed, reverent. “Ye are heaven’s magic. And yet I can touch you. Can feel yer skin against mine own without…” His voice broke.

“Becoming an animal?” she whispered.

“A hound,” he corrected and cleared his throat. “And quite a handsome one too, I might add. But only for the past four hundred years or so.”

She huffed out a disbelieving breath and he chuckled. The sound warbled slightly, but he was not the sort to wallow. Nay, he was the sort to laugh, to live each moment with ferocious zeal. ‘Twas maybe what she loved the most about him.

“I was na lying when I said I’d been celibate a long while, lass,” he murmured. “I tended to become somewhat… furry during bouts of passion.”

“Why then do you not change when
we
—” she began.

“Because ye are bonny Fayette.”

“You know my name.”

“Wee fairy. Aye. Mayhap love truly does tame the wildest of beasts,” he said and leaning forward, kissed her.

The world exploded, magic, laughter, and hope welling up like a glittering fountain in her soul.

“Well…” She breathed the word against his mouth. “We’d best get started,
lrandais
,” she said. “For I feel a bit untamed.”