Chapter Thirty-Two
T HIRTY - T WO
I wake to the sound of a door slapping open and a noise that sounds so much like a wolf’s snarl that I leap up, only to hear Bishop snap, “The door was closed, ” as he yanks the covers over me.
“Sorry.” The voice comes from the shadows by the door, and it’s agitated enough that I don’t recognize it until, to my surprise, Claude steps in. Always calm and immaculately dressed, the controller looks as if he spent the night in the basement cage, his face haggard, eyes wild.
“Claude?” I scramble up, clutching the blanket over me. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s Felix,” he says. “No one has seen him since last night. I wouldn’t usually be concerned.
There was…” He clears his throat as he glances at me and then back to Bishop.
“The younger wolves were enjoying themselves last night, and I presumed Felix was with them. But he was supposed to start early in the stables. Oliver and some of the others have been helping me search.”
“What?” Bishop swings his legs out of the bed and reaches for his trousers. “When exactly was he last seen?”
“During the hunt. They took down a deer. I wasn’t in the mood for that.
I retired to the house early with a few others to enjoy a bottle and play cards.
We went to bed when the young wolves came in, crashing and hollering.
When I asked around this morning, Jacques said he saw Felix take a deer leg after the others had fed.
He hauled it off into the woods. That was the last anyone remembers seeing him. ”
Bishop is fully dressed now. “Gather as many of the wolves as you can. Meet me at the stables. We’ll return to where he was last seen. I’ll ask Oliver to transform and follow Felix’s trail and—”
A young wolf—Augustus—runs into the room, stopping short when he sees Claude. “Oh, you’re here, too. Good. I was coming for Bishop. Silas is calling for him, and I think…” He glances at Claude. “I think it’s about Felix.”
Claude takes off at a run. Bishop waves Augustus to the door. “Come with me. We’ll let Miss Cordelia rest.”
“He…” Augustus swallows. “Silas wants her there, too. Both of you. Now.”
Dressing quickly isn’t a thing women can do, considering how many layers they’re expected to wear around men. Bishop helps me with my corset and the simplest dress I have. Society wouldn’t consider me fully dressed—especially with my hair down—but there’s no time for that.
We don’t need to ask where to find Silas. Claude’s voice reaches us as soon as we’re out of the bedchamber wing.
“That is my son, and I demand to know what—”
“You demand?” Silas says. “I’m the Alpha, and you’re lucky your son is alive. Consider that both my mercy and my thanks for what you’ve done for the Pack. But if I discover you had anything to do with this treachery, I’ll kill you both myself.”
My gait hitches, and I look up at Bishop. He only walks faster, leaving me hiking my skirts to catch up.
Treachery.
Oh gods, I think I finally know what Silas had planned for last night. Getting hold of Felix. The youngest of Bishop’s boys. The most vulnerable.
We reach the room. I step in, see Felix, and gasp. He’s been beaten. Severely beaten, even tortured, with blood running down his face, one eye swollen shut, blood on his shirt and dripping from his fingernails on one hand.
Bishop walks in… and says nothing. I glance over at him, startled, but his expression is empty.
Because what else can he do? Demand to know what happened to Felix? There’s no question who’s responsible for the beating. If Bishop demands an explanation, he’s demanding it of his Alpha. So he only looks from Felix to Silas and says, “What has he done?”
“Concealed a plot against me. But you know that.”
“I do?” Bishop says.
Silas shakes the boy, making Felix cough and sputter. Claude rocks forward, his hands clenched.
“Speak,” Silas says. “Tell them what you told me.”
Felix doesn’t look up, and when he speaks, he mumbles the words, as if his jaw can’t move properly.
“Had to,” he says. “Hurt too much.”
Silas shakes him harder, and I whisper a healing spell, hoping it brings some small relief.
“Tell them what you told me,” Silas says. “You can apologize for your weakness later.”
Felix keeps his gaze down and mumbles, “Bishop and Miss Cordelia. Told him the truth. That you’re playacting. Making everyone think you’ll be happy to get married. You don’t plan to. You promised to help her escape. Because of what happened to her aunt.”
I stand perfectly still, letting nothing show, but Silas’s gaze is locked on Bishop.
“What do you have to say to that?” Silas snap. “The boy says you lied to me. That’s treachery.”
My entire body stays rigid, but I inwardly relax and whisper another healing spell for Felix, this one buoyed by gratitude. When he cracked, he confessed only the lesser of two secrets, the one that will infuriate Silas but is far from the treason of mutiny.
“Felix is mistaken,” Bishop says smoothly. “I don’t know what he overheard, but I believe anyone with ears can vouch for my happiness with my bride-to-be… and hers with me.”
“Cries of passion can be faked,” Silas says. “Are you telling me that if she’s checked for a maidenhead, it won’t be found? And don’t suggest your cousin checks. He’ll say whatever you want.”
“I don’t know whether Cordelia still has her maidenhead or not. I’m hardly concerned with whether my bride is a virgin on her wedding night. But I am concerned with whether anyone can label my children bastards.”
“Speak plainly,” Silas snaps. “You talk like a bloody toff sometimes. You and your cousin. No man needs that much education.”
“I’m being circumspect, out of respect for my bride. We’ve enjoyed our nights together, but we have not enjoyed our wedding night. I don’t want anyone calculating back from my first son’s birth and calling him a bastard.”
“You expect me to believe that with all that noise from your bedchamber, you weren’t plowing her like a schoolboy?”
“If I was ‘plowing her like a schoolboy,’ you would have heard far less noise coming from her. I know what I’m doing, and what I’m doing is making certain my bride is pleased with the marital bed before she experiences the fullness of the marital contract.”
I continue trying to look embarrassed by this whole conversation while praying to the gods that no one points out that babies aren’t born exactly nine months after they’re made. Fortunately, these are men, and none of them seems to understand the specifics.
I take advantage of the dispute to cast more healing spells Felix’s way, and wonder whether I could escort him to Julius for proper treatment. I don’t need to hear the rest of this argument. All that matters is that no one’s accusing Bishop of plotting to overthrow the Alpha.
“May I take Felix to Julius?” I ask, when Bishop and Silas pause for breath.
“No,” Silas snaps. “Do what you like for him yourself, but do it here. I haven’t decided whether the boy deserves a physician’s care.”
I look around the room, spot a water jug, and wet a cloth as the men continue.
Bishop lowers his voice, as if so I won’t hear. “I want Cordelia. Why wouldn’t I? She’s strong, clever, beautiful, and a lycan. Can you imagine our sons?”
Oh, but that is a low blow, and I need to bite my cheek to keep from smiling. Of course Silas can imagine our sons. It’s all he thinks about. His legacy. His heirs.
Bishop continues, his voice low. “I know you think I’m cold, but even you can tell I’m not faking my interest in your daughter. You’ve given me the perfect mate.”
“Felix wasn’t lying,” Silas snaps. “He was in agony, but he still tried to avoid confessing what he knew.”
When I bring the damp cloth, Claude is trying to rouse Felix, who’s lost consciousness.
“He’s fine,” I whisper. “That’s my healing magic at work. It lets him rest.”
Claude exhales and murmurs his thanks. He takes the damp cloth, and I return to wet another.
“I think I understand what’s happened,” Bishop continues, in that same whispered voice. “Felix didn’t lie. I did.”
I force myself not to look over as I focus on Felix, whispering healing spells while his father and I clean his wounds.
“Cordelia is your daughter,” Bishop says. “She’s headstrong. She made it clear that she doesn’t want to marry me. So I have… told her things. Claimed I wouldn’t actually insist on the marriage.” A pause. “I lied.”
I keep working on Felix, but out of the corner of my eye, I see Bishop’s anxious gaze. Trying to catch my eye. He knows I can hear him, and he wants to be sure I understand what he’s doing.
“I’m loyal to my Pack,” Bishop says. “In a perfect world, I’d be honorable in all things, but my duty to the Pack comes first.”
“Duty?” Silas huffs. “From the sounds of it, you’ve been enjoying that duty very much.”
“I never claimed otherwise.”
As they keep talking, Claude glances at me. Our eyes meet, and he nods, as if knowing I overheard everything, and he’s relieved I don’t actually believe Bishop has betrayed me.
“Enough of this,” Silas says, his booming voice making my head ring after straining to follow their whispers. “Take your boy to Julius, Claude. Get him fixed up. He withstood more than most wolves twice his age. You should be proud.”
To his credit, Claude manages to nod, as if having your son’s torturer praise his endurance is a reason for paternal pride.
“Bishop? Speak to the Pack. Tell everyone to get out of their beds and wash and dress. They are expected in the great hall at two o’clock.” Silas claps his hands. “We’re going to have a wedding.”
Bishop tries to escort me to my bedchamber—obviously so we can talk. Silas refuses. The bride is to stay in her room until summoned, and the groom isn’t to go anywhere near her bedchamber.
“Can’t see the bride before the ceremony,” Silas says cheerfully. “Bad luck, you know.”
So I’m taken to my room, guarded by a wolf Silas assigns, as Marjorie helps me wash up.
Wash up for my wedding. Which isn’t in a week. It’s today. Now. As soon as possible.
My mind won’t process that. It can’t. I keep seeing Bishop’s expression, blank-faced as his eyes shone with panic. He can’t fix this. He doesn’t have time.
I want to tell myself Silas is bluffing. He can’t possibly marry us on such short notice. But he wouldn’t risk a bluff. He’s ready. I don’t even want to think about how long he’s been ready, the vicar stashed nearby, to be summoned at a moment’s notice.
“Is it so bad?” Marjorie whispers as she runs a soapy sponge over my back.
I bite back a snapped reply. To her, it’s a valid question. Bishop is intelligent, respectful, handsome, and kind, in his way. Very kind in his way. He treats me as if I’m a person equal to a man, and that should be a small thing, but it’s not. It’s really not.
To most young women, Bishop would be the answer to their fondest and barely hoped for dream. Give me a man who’s young and handsome and clever and kind. Well-mannered, fair-minded, and honorable. Heir to a powerful position.
For most women, Bishop would be a prize. But to me?
To me he’s more than that. He’s perfect. A man who suits me as sublimely as those dresses in my wardrobe.
But I don’t want to be forced to marry him… and I especially don’t want him to be forced to marry me.
“Not like this,” I murmur, because that’s all I can say.
I expect Marjorie to ask what I mean, but she lays her hands on my shoulders and kisses the top of my head.
“I know,” she says. “Even if you wanted to marry him, it should never be like this. I understand your hesitation is no reflection on Bishop. When I said ‘is it so bad’ I didn’t mean marrying him or marrying at all.
” She shivers. “I can’t imagine marriage myself.
Tied to one man? Popping out babies and begging for a few shillings to buy a new hat?
Never. When I came here, I was young and foolish and thinking maybe I’d like having a man look after me. I underestimated the value of freedom.”
I reach up to squeeze her hand, and she returns it.
“What I meant,” she says, “is that a wedding doesn’t tie you to Bishop for the rest of your life. It’s only a problem if he demands you honor the contract, which he won’t. You can still leave. It’s only a piece of paper.”
Is it? Yes, Bishop won’t enforce the contract, so I really could leave. But I’ll feel the pull of that “piece of paper.” Not tying me to him but…
I’m not sure I can explain it. Not to Marjorie. Maybe not even to myself.
Bishop said that he’d still want to see me after I left.
I said too much has happened between us to ever be strangers.
We agreed on that, and the thought of returning home and still seeing him—letting our relationship grow and deepen organically—makes me feel as if my greediest wish has been granted
But this changes things. If he comes to see me after we’re legally married, it’s not necessarily by choice. What if he feels bound to me, he feels a responsibility to me? My insides shrivel at the thought.
But this isn’t something I can say to Marjorie, so I take a deep breath and force lightness into my voice. “You’re right. It’s only a piece of paper.”
“But you still don’t want it.”
My eyes prickle, and I blink back tears. “I’ll survive.”
“You will. And think of it this way.” She leans down to my ear. “It’ll make your father think he’s won, which puts Bishop in a much better position for… whatever Bishop needs to do.”
I try for a smile. “You have a point.”
“An excellent one. Now, let’s get you ready for your wedding day.”