Chapter Fourteen
I decide to take Elsie up on her offer to visit the village, and after putting my books in our chambers, I head toward the castle exit. I wonder if there’s anything she can tell me about Blake that might be useful to Callum and me.
More than anything, I’d like to get some fresh air, away from Lowfell. Elsie—despite her horrible brother—seems like she might be nicer than I first assumed.
When I open the door, she is already waiting for me in the courtyard outside. She leans against the wall while Alfie chases a bird across the cobblestones. “I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she says.
My smile falters. “I did wonder if it was wise, after last night. James seems intent on capturing me.”
“You’ll be fine.” She opens her coat, and pats a dagger sheathed in the belt around her waist. “I can take care of anyone who tries anything. It’s only a half-an-hour walk, and we’re not leaving Blake’s territory. Besides, it looks like that big oaf will be protecting us meek ladies, anyway.”
She rolls her eyes, though her cheeks flush slightly. I look over my shoulder, half expecting to see Callum. It’s Arran who strides through the castle doors wearing a black shirt and a kilt of black-and-grey tartan.
“I thought you didn’t want to come,” says Elsie as he approaches.
“Changed my mind.” His voice is hoarse, as if he doesn’t speak much, and his mouth pinches in the corners. He doesn’t sound convincing.
“Had your mind changed, more like.” Elsie arches an eyebrow. Alfie trips on a stone, and wails as he falls onto his knees. Elsie scoffs. “Oh, come here, you!”
She marches toward him, picks him up, and brushes down his little breeches.
I glance up at Arran. “Blake told you to keep an eye on me, didn’t he?”
“Is that supposed to be a joke?” he says. I frown, and he points at his eye patch. “On account of me only having one?”
My cheeks flame. “Oh, goodness! I would never...” I shut my mouth.
Arran is grinning, and Elsie shakes her head as she marches Alfie over. She slaps the burly male’s arm. “Don’t be mean,” she says.
“You’re joking.” I bite my cheek. “You have a sense of humor, then? I wondered.”
Arran lets out a gravelly laugh, and not for the first time, familiarity jolts through me. “Aye, Blake told me to watch you. Something about protecting his assets.”
I exhale and my breath mists in front of my face. “Of course he said that.”
He ruffles Alfie’s messy hair with a big hand. “Come on. Let’s get this over with. I hate shopping.”
With Alfie wittering on about getting a glass of apple juice from the “apply lady” when we arrive, the four of us head through the tunnel in the wall, then cross the grounds.
I must admit, having spent most of my time in castles, so far, I’m curious to visit a village here in the wolf kingdom.
I’m even more curious to know what the people who consider Blake alpha think of him.
Light rain falls as we leave Lowfell behind.
We walk past the mountain path we ascended last night, and soon reach an overgrown track that cuts through a valley. Alfie races ahead. When some sheep grazing on the slope of one of the mountains scatter—afraid of the little menace tearing toward them—Elsie shouts at him to pack it in, then hurries after him.
Arran doesn’t speak to me as our boots squelch through the mud, yet the silence is not entirely uncomfortable. There is something quiet and assured about him. Callum thinks he will have to fight him at some point. I don’t like the thought.
He’s a similar build to Callum—tall, broad, and packed with muscle—but I think he may be a few years older. From the neatness of his dark hair and beard, and the thin scars I catch on his hands and thick neck when the sunlight peeks between the clouds, I have a feeling he may have served as a soldier.
He also seems strangely familiar.
When Arran offers me an inquisitive look, I fight my blush. “Have we met?” I ask.
“I worked for your father.” I stiffen and the corner of his mouth tips up. “I don’t anymore. Obviously. I was in his army.”
“But you’re a wolf.”
“I’m a half-wolf. I’d not been bitten yet when I moved to King’s City. It was easy enough to hide.”
“Blake was in the King’s Guard, wasn’t he? Is that where you met him?”
He inclines his head. “Something like that.”
“And you came with him, to the north?”
“I did.”
“Why?”
Arran chuckles. “You’re very direct, aren’t you?” He shrugs a shoulder, but darkness passes over his face. “I owe Blake my life. I’d follow him anywhere.”
Ahead, Elsie pretends to be a monster whose diet consists of naughty “wee pups” who upset the livestock, much to Alfie’s delight. A smile ghosts Arran’s lips before his throat bobs.
“I came to the city the summer your mother died,” he says. “My uncle took me out for her funeral. I’d never seen so many people gathered in one place before. People lined the streets, throwing flowers, sending prayers to the Sun Goddess.”
My throat tightens as I remember that day—the scorching sun, the scent of incense, following the coffin into the domed Church of Light and Sun. Everyone was watching, and all I wanted to do was scream, yet I held it inside as I walked behind my father toward the front row of pews.
My brother, Philip, turned up late. He stumbled down the aisle, stinking of alcohol. Yet Father turned his back on him and hissed at me to pull myself together when a tear slipped down my cheek.
“She must have been very loved,” says Arran.
Her people didn’t know her, not really. They didn’t know she smelt like lavender and horses, or that her eyes crinkled in the corners when she smiled. They never heard her stories about brave princesses who fought monsters.
Though perhaps—if she was a wolf—I didn’t know her either.
“She was,” I say softly.
It’s not yet midday when we reach the village, and the rain finally stops.
Stone houses scatter across the sloping landscape, many with smoke coming from their chimneys. The streets are packed with people heading in the same direction as us, toward a market by the edge of a loch. The women wear simple dresses beneath their cloaks, and most of the men wear the same black-and-grey tartan of Arran’s kilt. Blake’s colors.
“They don’t all wear the Lowfell tartan,” I observe, as an older man stalks past us, wearing a blue-and-green pattern on his kilt that I’ve not yet encountered.
“Some of the older generation still wear Bruce’s tartan.” Elsie’s lips harden. “Blake changed it after he’d killed him, but it didn’t catch on with everyone.”
“Do they not all support Blake as alpha?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Most like him well enough. Our father caused a lot of disruption. He was constantly grappling for more power, invading villages and taking nearby territories. It was the villages like this one that suffered for it when other alphas decided to fight back. Blake has given them some semblance of peace, and most respect him for that, even if he is an outsider.”
“Most?”
“He killed a lot of the Wolves who were in Lowfell Castle the night we arrived,” says Arran quietly. “Most of them had family in villages like this one.”
Elsie points at a building isolated from the others, with black stone walls that look like they’ve been charred. “Plus, he banned the worship of Night, which didn’t go down well with some of the older folks. He’s managed to dowse any sparks of rebellion over the past few years, but some wear the old tartan to remind him that they supported his father, not him.”
Elsie keeps Alfie closer, now, as we pass vendors selling eggs, fruit, and grain from carts. A few say hi to her, and others dip their heads in deference at Arran—clearly recognizing him as one of Blake’s close confidants.
We pass a stone building by the water’s edge, with a sign reading The Star Inn above its doors. The faint scent of ale comes from within, and adds to the scents of fish and woodsmoke that come from the market stalls. Elsie tenses.
“I’ll take him to get his apple juice,” says Arran, putting his hand on Alfie’s shoulder. “I have no desire to go dress shopping.”
Elsie grips Arran’s bicep, her gaze flitting to the tavern once more. “Just the apple juice. Aye?”
He stiffens, and a muscle ticks in his jaw. I tense because he’s an imposing man. He doesn’t seem like he has a temper like my father, but it’s hard to truly tell. He steers Alfie through the crowd. When he’s reached a cart filled with apples opposite the tavern, Elsie sighs and continues walking.
I don’t want to pry, but...“What was that all about?” My voice is barely audible over the sound of a woman shouting about the cheap price of her fresh mussels. The water ripples in the loch, behind her.
“I probably shouldn’t say anything, but he has a bit of a problem with alcohol. Ever since... well, he had some dark years, before he came to Lowfell.” She offers me a terse smile. “He’s doing well now, but... there are temptations in places like this.”
Alfie’s squeal cuts through the crowd. Behind us, Arran has the small boy in a headlock while he talks to a couple of men by the cart. “He seems like a good father,” I say.
A dark laugh escapes her lips as she pauses by a cheese stall. “I wish he was the father.” She shakes her head. “Alfie’s not mine, either. Not biologically, anyway. His mother was my dearest friend. Blake... he scared me, that night when he killed Father. I left Lowfell, fled to a village close to Madadh-allaidh. Alfie’s mother took me in.” She bites her bottom lip. “Her husband was an abusive shite. I watched it happen, how he slowly killed her. She wouldn’t leave him—even though I implored her to. Eventually, it was too late. He murdered her, and damned near killed the wee lad, as well. I got him out of there, and brought him here.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say.
She shrugs as if she’s pretending to be unaffected, but her jaw sets. “The bastard never paid for what he did.” She pats her dagger again. “One day, I’m going to make him pay.”
“Where is he?” I ask.
“Castle Madadh-allaidh. You might have met him when you were there. His name is Magnus.”
Ice spreads inside me as I recall the sallow-faced wolf with greasy dark hair. He was a prisoner in the Borderlands Castle when I met Callum, and he threatened me that night, and has done so numerous times since. The last I heard of him, Blake had poisoned him and left him in his infirmary.
“I had the displeasure of meeting him,” I say. “Does Blake know all of this?”
“Aye, he knows. I asked him not to kill him. I want to look into his eyes when he dies. Blake’s been torturing the bastard for the past few years.” She shakes her head. “Magnus knows Alfie is here. He thinks Blake is keeping him hostage. It’s how Blake has him wrapped around his little finger.”
“You disapprove,” I say.
“I’ve no qualms with him tormenting the bastard, but I wish he wouldn’t use the lad to do it.”
Sensing I’ve touched on a sore subject, I ask, “Are you and Arran together?”
She laughs a little too loudly for it to be real. “Us two? Together?” She waves a hand dismissively. “No. Of course not.” I must not hide my skepticism, because she exhales and can’t quite meet my eye. “He’s a good man. He’s been good to us both. He’s even tried it on with me a couple of times over the years, but... well...” She bites her lip, some of the spark dimming in her eyes. She shakes her head. “The goddess has other plans, unfortunately.”
My eyebrows pinch together. “What do you mean?”
“Ah, nothing. Just... his soul belongs to another.”
“He has feelings for someone else?”
“You could say that. She’s back in King’s City, I think.” Elsie shrugs. “He pines for her, sometimes. He thinks I don’t know, but I do.” She bites her bottom lip. “I wish I could look past it. After everything I’ve been through... I want someone who belongs only to me—heart, body, and soul. I think I deserve that.”
“You do.”
She grins suddenly, and her face lights up. “Have you started that book I lent you?”
“Yes. But then your brother took it off me.”
“Did he now? I’ll find you another.” She points toward a stall by the side of the loch, laden with different colored fabrics, and speeds up. “Come on, let’s get you a dress for the feast. I get all of mine from here.”
I can’t deny I’m a little excited as I follow her to the vendor. After everything that has happened lately, it’s nice to have some semblance of normalcy. My fingers itch to pick something that will make Callum as tongue-tied as he was the last time I wore a nice dress.
***
On the way back to Lowfell an hour or so later, I have three new dresses draped over my arm that Elsie was kind enough to purchase for me. Arran is in a dark mood. I wonder if he drank something, and Elsie’s nostrils flare a couple of times as if she’s trying to determine the same thing. Sensing they might need a moment, I stride ahead to join Alfie. He offers me an apple, and starts naming the nearby sheep.
“Is everything alright?” Elsie’s lowered voice carries in the wind.
“I’m not sure,” says Arran. “Apparently people have been seen entering the chapel by the water. I have a bad feeling Night’s Acolytes might be rising once more. There are rumors that the Night Prince is getting ready to free his master. It could make things difficult.”
“Aye,” she replies softly. “It could.”