Chapter Seven #2
With all my allies beyond reach, who do I find myself turning toward? The man sitting beside me. The man I just met this morning. The man who has nothing but contempt for me and has done the polar opposite of earning my trust.
I gravitate toward Bishop because he was there at the start of this. He came to my aid at the town house, in a situation I couldn’t have handled alone, and even if his assistance came at my father’s command, a primitive part of me doesn’t recognize the distinction.
I need an ally… and the only possibility right now is Bishop Daniels, which I have the intelligence to recognize as a spectacularly bad idea. Therefore, I must thwart the impulse to see him as anything except my captor, and that includes engaging him in civil conversation.
It must be well past midnight. Outside, I see only moonlit forest. We make yet another turn, and Bishop straightens.
“We’re nearing Trevelyan,” he says.
“Is it in Cornwall? The word is Welsh, but I’ve also heard the name when we lived in Cornwall.”
“I don’t know the origins, but no, we aren’t in Cornwall. I mentioned it because I need to warn you before we get there.”
“Let me guess. Don’t attempt to escape, Miss Carter. It’s miles to the nearest house, and they won’t take you in. Also we’re wolves—we can track you down.”
“We’ve already established that I’ll call you Cordelia. Other than that, you’re clever enough not to run from a house of werewolves. My warning comes because Trevelyan is a house of werewolves.”
I look over at him.
“You’ve met me,” he says. “You’ve met my cousin, Julius. I’m sure you think I’m a monster, but you’ll also admit that I am, in my way, civil. My cousin is even more of a gentleman. Not all the Pack are like us.”
“Be prepared for sweaty half-dressed men?” I’m about to make a quip about that when his look stops me. “I’m joking around when you’re imparting a serious warning. I apologize.”
Again, he blinks, the apology setting him back. I add this to my growing tally of things I know about Bishop Daniels. He expects me to be difficult, and he’s prepared for that. He doesn’t expect me to admit I’ve gone too far. And he certainly doesn’t expect me to apologize for it.
I continue, “I’ve worked with all sorts of men, and I prefer the uncouth ones. I like honesty. Simple men can’t afford to put on airs.”
“That isn’t my concern. It’s…” His fingers drum against his leg. “I don’t know how to put this delicately.”
“Then don’t. Didn’t I just say I like honesty?”
He still seems to struggle for words, and I think I begin to understand his meaning.
Add this to my tally. Bishop Daniels is uncomfortable talking to me about “indelicate” matters.
I’m a young woman from a social class where one doesn’t discuss such things, and I might have proven I’m no blushing damsel, but he’s still uncomfortable.
“You fear they might harass me,” I say. “Or worse.”
“They wouldn’t dare.” The words come hard, his eyes flashing before he blinks it away. “You’re the Alpha’s daughter. They won’t touch you. But they may look at you in ways you’ll find uncomfortable.”
“The way I looked at you earlier?”
That earns me another blink, but then he seems to think about it. When he finally speaks, his words are measured. “No. I startled you by being undressed, and you…” He seems to struggle for words. “You looked out of curiosity. I wasn’t in any danger.”
“Oh.” I think this through. “Yes, I see. It was rude of me to stare at you, but I didn’t mean anything by it. I certainly wouldn’t have acted on it. Men might.” I look at him. “Werewolves more than most?”
More silence, and I think he’s not going to answer. Then he says, “You were raised with only women, right? Like most witches?”
I nod.
“And werewolves are usually raised with only men. There may be female servants, but that’s different. For Pack werewolves, women serve… functions.”
“Cleaning your home, cooking your food, bearing your children, warming your beds.”
I’m being ridiculously discreet with the last, but color still touches his cheeks. “Yes. The wolves at Trevelyan won’t know how to respond to you, and they may act inappropriately.”
“Because I’m a prize.” I try to say it lightly but bitterness threads through my voice. “Prime breeding stock.”
“Not for them.”
“Not for anyone. ”
He dips his chin. “Agreed. My point is that Pack wolves will know you’re a prize, one that isn’t for them, but they might still stare at you like a pile of gold they covet. I’ll do what I can to stop it.”
I feel the urge to say “thank you,” but I suspect that would confuse him. He’ll protect me for my father’s sake. It has nothing to do with me.
He continues, “You can’t walk about the estate alone. You need an escort at all times, and there will be three candidates. Myself, Julius, or Oliver, whom I’ll introduce you to. If others offer, refuse and tell me.”
“Are there no women to escort me? You mentioned female servants.”
“Yes, there are… women at the estate. They serve as maids and cooks.”
“And?”
His brows shoot up.
“There’s more,” I say. “I can see it in your face.”
He shakes his head. “No, you can’t. No one ever knows what I’m thinking.”
A hint of pride says that’s by design. He gives away nothing he doesn’t want given away.
“Then how do I know the women are more than maids and cooks?” I say.
“You must have heard a rumor.”
I open my mouth to argue, and then stop. If he thinks I can’t read him, that’s to my advantage. “Maybe you’re right. I heard something and forgot it. I’m guessing the women don’t only make up your bed in the morning. They also keep it warm at night.”
“Not mine, ” he says coolly. “If they want, they can sleep with those outside the inner circle.” He looks at me. “But it’s their choice.”
“All right.”
His gaze searches mine.
I shrug. “You say it’s their choice. I presume that’s the truth because if it isn’t, I’ll figure it out.
I’m not going to be scandalized. My aunt specializes in medicine for ‘feminine concerns.’ Brothels are her best customers.
I don’t have any problem with women who sleep with men outside of marriage.
One man. Many men. For money. For pleasure. Their choice is their choice.”
He’s quiet, as if assimilating this. Did I speak too freely? Embarrass him? No, this time he isn’t blushing. Just adjusting his expectations of me, I think.
Finally he says, “I agree. The inner circle might not avail itself of their offerings, but I’d never disrespect the women for it.
There are seven maids and cooks. You’ll only deal with two.
Possibly a third.” He considers. “One of the two is a child. Twelve years of age. Obviously she’s purely a maidservant.
However rough the men’s manners, none of them would dare touch her. The penalty would be exile.”
“Good. But you said I can only talk to two, maybe three. What about the others? I’d hate to ignore them. That’s rude.”
“You won’t need to ignore them. I meant that only a select few will be helping you. There may be… jealousies. Leave that to me. If anyone bothers you—wolf or housemaid—speak to myself, Julius, or Oliver.”
“You mentioned an inner circle. How many men are in the Pack? And you call them wolves?”
He relaxes as conversation turns in a more comfortable direction. “Yes, wolves is the traditional word. There are twenty-seven. Most will be at the Meet tomorrow. The inner circle consists of four, besides your father.”
“You’re his second-in-command. The beta wolf?”
His nose wrinkles. “We don’t use that term, and I’m not his second. He called me his right-hand man, but I’m more like his aide. He has an advisor and an enforcer. Also a controller, who looks after the finances. I do a little bit of everything. I’m still young and still learning.”
He’s being modest, which doesn’t suit him. I mull on that for a moment before asking, “How old are you?”
He seems startled by the question.
“My father said werewolves age slowly. You only seem a few years older than me.”
“I’m twenty-eight. We age slower beginning with our first transformation. So the slower aging doesn’t become obvious until we’re older.”
Still young, as he said. Still young for his position, too, as my aunt said. He downplayed that position by calling himself my father’s aide, but he’s obviously more. My father’s right-hand man, being taught all the critical Pack jobs.
“My father doesn’t have any sons, does he?” I say.
His eyes widen, as if surprised that I understand. My father has no sons, and so he’s training Bishop to take his place.
I’m sure that doesn’t sit well with everyone. From what I understand, in a Pack, one wolf rules, and so everyone will want to be that wolf. Bishop wasn’t being modest earlier. He was being careful.
I lean back. “So the Pack has an advisor, an enforcer, and a controller. Which is your cousin?”
“Julius isn’t part of the inner circle. He’s the Pack doctor, though, which grants him special status.”
Julius is also more than Bishop’s cousin. He’s his dear friend and confidant. I can tell by the way Bishop speaks of him, and how quick he is to defend Julius’s status.
“And Oliver?”
“He’s your father’s younger brother. Half brother, if we’re being pedantic. Oliver doesn’t enjoy any special standing in the Pack, but I believe you’ll find him an excellent companion. He’s steady-minded and quiet, an excellent fighter and an asset to the Pack.”
So Bishop is also quick to praise and defend Oliver. His two staunchest allies, then.
Bishop continues, “There are many good wolves in the Pack. In steering you toward Julius and Oliver, I’m only simplifying matters. I’m not trying to divide the men into camps—who you can trust and who you can’t.”
He’s being careful. To avoid insulting his fellow wolves? Or something else?
“And here we are finally,” he says, with obvious relief. “Welcome to Trevelyan.”