Chapter Six
SIX
The meal isn’t as awkward as I might have expected.
Yes, Montague monopolizes Bishop, but at least that means he’s not insulting anyone.
Of course, it also means that, with Bishop’s full—if begrudging—attention, Montague seizes the opportunity to play mentor.
Bloody, savage mentor, whose entire plan seems to consist of “kill everyone.”
Julius and Nancy fall into the conversation of old friends reunited.
I’m not sure what role Nancy plays in Montague’s life—and I’m somewhat scared of the answer—but she’s kind and easy to talk to, and obviously dotes on “the boys” and easily pulls me into that circle, in the way some women have, extending maternal instinct like dove wings, wrapped around everyone who seems as if they might need it.
I do feel guilty abandoning Bishop, even if he’s right beside me.
He’s holding my hand, and the pressure of his fingers tracks the ebb and flow of his emotions.
But when I make a move to join that conversation, even as a listener, Julius gently shakes his head and mouths “He’s fine.
” My first instinct is to bristle. Bishop is obviously not fine. But I soon understand Julius’s meaning.
Montague is counseling Bishop to murder, the brutal demise of everyone who stands between him and victory. The plans of a despot who would rule through terror, and who makes the most horrible suggestions as easily as he might suggest Bishop take a shortcut through the woods.
Bishop doesn’t want me hearing this. And if I do, I can’t react. As I watch Bishop, his face impassive, I begin to understand where that implacable mask came from—having to endure this without response.
I give Bishop the privacy he needs and immerse myself in the other conversation and as I do, his grip on my hand relaxes, telling me I’ve made the right choice.
Once the meal is over, Julius tends to medical concerns.
Nancy has a bad leg, and Montague has several old wounds that have been giving him trouble as he ages.
Julius was right—when he’s acting as Montague’s doctor, he’s suddenly not “useless” at all.
His grandfather readily lists every concern he has for both of them, and Nancy writes down the treatment while Montague has the unmitigated gall to grumble about how long it’s been since Julius last came, as if Julius-the-grandson is one person and Julius-the-doctor is another.
Nancy packs us far too much food, though I’m sure by tomorrow it won’t seem like too much at all. Then she takes Julius outside while Bishop talks with Montague, pulling me into the conversation, as if in these last moments, we become a grandson and his new wife on a family visit.
There’s no talk of Silas or the Pack. The conversation centers on how I’m liking Trevelyan, with Montague even mentioning a hidden path and a place where my grandmother had a garden, in case that interests me.
Of course we haven’t told Montague that Trevelyan is in ruins. No more than we’ve said Silas is dead and Bishop is already Alpha. No reason to tell him, and probably every reason not to.
When Julius returns, we’re ready to go. Julius and Nancy have packed the horses, and that was the excuse for the two walking off, but I suspect they were also accessing the money Bishop and Julius need.
It’s all handled very adroitly, as if they’ve done this dozens of times. Bishop and Julius come for a rare visit … and get what they need from their stash of funds, without their grandfather knowing such funds exist.
Then we take our leave, Montague telling Bishop to bring me for a longer visit, that Nancy would appreciate the feminine company.
Julius hugs Nancy, and Bishop gives her a quick embrace, and she squeezes my arm before I make it clear that a hug wouldn’t be unwelcome.
I’m no longer in polite society and increasingly glad of it.
As we set off, the two men have changed positions, Julius riding ahead and Bishop behind, and I feel the significance of that. The threat Bishop shields me from comes from that cottage, as if I need to be protected from some insidious miasma.
We’re nearing the edge when Julius twists to call back, “Why don’t you two walk for a while? I’ll lead the horses out, and you can enjoy a forest stroll.” His gaze shoots to Bishop. “He won’t follow us.”
Bishop catches my eye. “Would you mind walking?”
“I would like it very much, thank you.”
I dismount. At a command from Bishop, Cinder follows Julius and the gelding plods along behind her.
Bishop takes my hand and leads me onto a side path. When the horses have passed from sight, he says, “Should I have warned you?”
“I understand why you didn’t.”
“I thought it better if you didn’t have time to imagine what to expect. Also, I…” His hand tightens on mine. “I know you probably presumed that I wasn’t in contact with him, if he still lived.”
“Yes.”
His voice drops. “Because of what he is. What he’s done.”
“I don’t know what he’s done, Bishop. I only know he was exiled from the Pack when your father was young. From his reputation, Montague was—is—a brutal werewolf, and not in any way where such a term might be considered flattering.”
A short, humorless laugh. “True. Still, what you heard today could be mistaken for bluster or hyperbole. A braggart saying he’d like to kill his rivals.”
“I didn’t mistake it for that.”
“Good. First, let me assure you that you’re in no danger from him. As my mate, you help solidify my claim to Alphahood.” He slants a look my way. “Are you wondering why I didn’t tell him I’m already Alpha?”
“Oh, I understand. Is there any chance he’ll find out?”
Bishop shakes his head. “Nancy has connections in the outside supernatural world, but Julius will have told her, and she’ll keep it from Montague.”
“So Nancy is your grandfather’s…?”
“Caretaker.”
I slide a look his way, and he sighs before saying, “And probably more.”
“His lover.”
“I…” He takes a deep breath. “I can say I have no proof, but that’s cowardice. I feel as if I should protect her, but then I feel as if that is not my choice to make, and then I worry that I’m only saying that because I need her to care for him.”
He glances at me. “You’re going to hear many confessions today.”
“I appreciate them all.” I wrap my hand tighter with his. “You don’t need to be the unshakable Alpha with me, Bishop.”
“Showing weakness isn’t easy for me.”
“Emotion isn’t weakness. Uncertainty isn’t weakness. And not interfering with whatever is going on back there is only cowardice if anyone forces her to stay, and I can tell that’s not the case.”
He exhales a long breath. “It’s not. He doesn’t abuse her. Doesn’t even insult her. He saved her life, maybe twenty years ago, in the attack that injured her leg.”
“Ah.”
“Silas says madness touches my family line, but I’m not sure whether it’s madness or just a lack of whatever gives werewolves their humanity.
Montague is a monster. Never doubt that.
But he can decide—for reasons unfathomable to anyone—to be kind.
He saved Nancy and protected her while she recovered, long before there was any … other relationship.”
“After she healed, she stayed with him.”
He nods. “As a sort of housekeeper, and then…” That helpless gesture again.
“Whatever she is now. He cares for her, deeply, and she cares for him. Eventually, Julius and I came to accept that it was her choice. We also came to rely on and trust her. Aside from their personal relationship, she’s his caretaker and his guardian.
She has no illusions about what he is, and so she ensures he stays there, in his little forest fiefdom. ”
“Then you need to accept that she’s a rational adult who has made a choice, and as uncomfortable as it is, you cannot interfere.” I pause. “Or judge.”
“I know.”
We walk a little more, and then I say, softly, “He adores you.”
His hand tightens so much that I fear I’ve said the wrong thing, and my heart pounds.
I want to offer comfort and support. My experience comforting and supporting friends feels inadequate.
I was always there for Audrey when she butted heads with her father, who tried to steer her into a conventional life for a young woman.
That had been a young woman dealing with a normal parent.
Not someone dealing with a monstrous grandfather.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “If you don’t want to talk about it—”
“It started when I was a boy,” he whispers, almost too low for me to hear.
“He would say—” A deep, shuddering breath.
“He would say that I reminded him of himself. My father would take me aside and be very clear that I was not like Montague, at least not in the worst ways. He said that what my grandfather saw in me was strength and ambition, which Montague has. But my father also said that, in me, Montague sees things he lacks and wants.”
“Intelligence and the ability to lead and inspire others. Your grandfather looks at you and thinks he sees a younger version of himself, when what he really sees is a projection of what he believes himself to be.”
Bishop smiles at me. “I wish you could have met my father, Delia.” His voice catches. “He would have adored you. My father and my uncle were … more like Julius than me. Clever and charming and resourceful and good men, good wolves.”
“You’re all of that.”
His smile turns wry. “No one has ever accused me of being charming.”
“I think you are.”
He laughs softly. “You have an unusual taste in men, though I’m certainly not complaining. My point is that Julius and my uncle and my father weren’t what my grandfather wanted, and they paid that price.”
“I…” I swallow. “Nothing I say is a judgment, Bishop, but I do have questions.”
“Ask.”
“I was under the impression your uncle and father didn’t stay with him after they were grown.”