Chapter 15 #2
“Yes. And his father before him, and his father before that. The Northwood curse, they call it in the old family records.”
Verity absorbed this information, fitting it into the framework she was building in her mind. “What led to your father’s death? You said he was killed.”
Pain flickered across Lucien’s face. “There were troubles in the months before. Sheep going missing, game brought down in the night. Tracks found in the snow, howling heard on the moors. The villagers were beginning to talk of wolves, though everyone knew wolves had been extinct in England for centuries.”
“Were there deaths? People killed?”
“No. Never. My father was a good man, gentle and honorable. He managed his condition for decades without serious incident.” Lucien’s voice roughened. “He wrote his apprehension in his journals when he realized what was happening. He knew he was losing control.”
Verity stopped pacing. “Could anyone have been injured by your father during that time? Anyone who might have been … changed?”
Lucien went very still. Something shifted in his expression, a memory surfacing that he had perhaps tried not to examine too closely.
“Ephraim,” he said slowly. “The night my father died, Ephraim was attacked. My father turned on him before Ephraim could … before it was over. There was a struggle. Ephraim’s arm was scratched open. ”
“Scratched? Or bitten?”
“I never asked. I assumed claws, but … you are wondering if my father bit him. If Ephraim might have been infected.”
“The thought had occurred to me.”
“No.” He shook his head firmly. “I have known Ephraim my entire life. If he carried the curse, I would know.”
“Would you?” Verity kept her voice gentle. “You said the transformation came upon you a month after your father’s death. What if there is a similar delay for anyone bitten? What if the change did not manifest in Ephraim immediately?”
“Even if that were true, it has been four years. Surely, I would have noticed something … some sign, some change in his behavior.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps he has learned to hide it, just as you have learned to hide yours.” Verity resumed her pacing, Eirin falling into step beside her once more.
“You say both you and your father are honorable men who would never willingly harm others. And yet someone is killing people in Blackfen. If it is not you, then someone else must carry the curse. Someone who does not share your restraint.”
Lucien fell silent, his expression troubled. She could see him wrestling with the implications, his loyalty to Ephraim warring against the cold logic of her argument.
But privately, a seed of suspicion had taken root in Verity’s mind.
Ephraim had opportunity. Ephraim had knowledge of the cellar, of the chains, of Lucien’s condition.
Ephraim had been injured by a creature of the curse.
And if Ephraim had been hiding his own transformation all these years, he would also have the means to release Lucien from his chains and the motive to cast suspicion elsewhere.
But how? If he, too, were turned into a wolf, the gamekeeper could not release Lucien from his chains.
She kept these thoughts to herself for now.
“That first morning, the morning you arrived, I woke with no sign of blood on me,” he finally commented.
Verity noted his color had improved, as if considering these options was improving his disposition.
She did not dare ask what he had found the other mornings.
She supposed he should talk about it, but that would have to wait for another day.
“What about Cobb?” she asked. “The man from the village. He has unusual strength.”
“Cobb?” Lucien looked startled by the shift in topic. “He is harmless. And he has no connection to my family. No way he could have acquired the curse.”
“You are certain?”
“Yes. Cobb was born in the village. His parents were ordinary folk, a blacksmith and a seamstress. There is no Northwood blood in his veins.” He dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand. “Besides, he has no knowledge of this cellar, no means of releasing me from my chains.”
Verity nodded slowly, crossing Cobb off her mental list. “Then we return to the question of bloodlines.” She hesitated, knowing she was about to tread on dangerous ground. “Lucien, I must ask you something, and I need you to consider it carefully before you answer.”
He regarded her warily. “What is it?”
“Is it possible … is there any chance … that your father might have sired children outside his marriage?”
The effect was immediate. Lucien’s eyes flashed with anger and hurt. “My father was a good man. He loved my mother. He would never have betrayed her in such a fashion.”
“I am not questioning his character. I am simply?—”
“You are suggesting he was an adulterer. That he fathered bastards and abandoned them.” His voice had gone cold. “Why would you even think such a thing?”
Verity stood her ground. “Because the curse is inherited. You said it yourself … passed from father to son through the blood. If that is true, then any son of a Northwood would carry the potential for transformation.” She paused, letting the words sink in.
“How do you know there is only one werewolf in Blackfen? How do you know your father or your grandfather or any of your ancestors did not leave behind children who were never acknowledged?”
Lucien opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. The anger drained from his face, replaced by something more complicated, a slow comprehension that he had never considered this possibility.
“It has always been this way according to the archives,” he said slowly, almost to himself.
“Some offspring inheriting the curse, managing it as best they can, passing it to their own children in turn. I never thought to …” He trailed off, shaking his head.
“I have had so few people to discuss this with. Ephraim. My mother, to some extent. We never spoke of it as something to be analyzed or understood. It was simply a burden to be borne.”
“An outsider’s perspective can sometimes see what those closest cannot.”
He looked at her then, really looked at her. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I am beginning to understand that.”
Verity felt a warmth spread through her chest despite the chill of the cellar. Perhaps this was why providence had led her to Blackfen. Why she had been drawn to this man, this place, this impossible situation. Perhaps she was meant to be here, meant to help him see what he could not see alone.
Perhaps I was always meant to be his mate.
The thought rose unbidden, and she did not push it away.
“Lucien,” she coaxed gently, “is there anyone in your family history who might have fathered illegitimate children? Anyone who was … less careful with their honor than your father?”
He was quiet for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was heavy with reluctance. “There is something I discovered in my father’s papers after his death.”
Verity waited, sensing that he was working up to something difficult.
“My father kept journals. Not a regular diary, but a record of incidents related to the curse … events he felt should be documented for future generations.” Lucien’s jaw tightened. “In it, I found an entry about my father’s elder brother. My uncle Alden.”
“Your father had a brother?”
“He died when I was a boy. I have only the vaguest memories of him, a tall figure with black hair and gray eyes that seemed to look straight through you. I was told he perished in a hunting accident, dragged down by whatever it was he pursued.” Lucien’s voice dropped.
“It was not until I read my father’s journal that I learned the truth. ”