Chapter Nineteen #2
Julius looks as if he wants to interject, but a glance from Bishop stops him. Bishop cuts and chews another piece of pork, as if this statement has nothing to do with him.
“Is that not what I should fear with you, lad?” Hamish says, clearly annoyed that he had to make the connection for us. I hide my smile. He wanted to put Bishop on the defensive, and my husband is not going there.
“In my case,” Bishop says, “proper succession was followed. I was the Alpha-elect, and then I won the position in a challenge, in accordance with Pack law. I presume you are referring to the Cambrian Pack’s current situation?”
“Situation?”
“Being a Pack without a seat. Without a home and properties. Without territory.”
Hamish grunts. “Not a Pack at all.”
“Technically, you’re correct. They call themselves a Pack, and have taken the name of the Cambrians, but they haven’t consulted with the other British Packs.
Silas saw fit not to challenge them on their claim because they hadn’t officially made one.
He presumed they were attempting to claim Wales but—as you well know—that has been neutral territory since the original Cambrian Pack disintegrated.
Silas wanted to ignore the Cambrians until they either came into England or tried to stop us from crossing into Wales.
In short, until they made a de facto territory claim. ”
“Which they have not,” Julius says. “Yet.”
Bishop nods. “My advice—which Silas took—was to regularly have Albion wolves passing through Wales. Not as a show of force, but simply to make our presence known. I also had one of our wolves make contact. According to him, Doyle isn’t ready to claim territory, as he isn’t yet in a position to purchase property for a proper Pack seat. ”
“And when he is,” Hamish mutters, “gods help us. His entire Pack is comprised of nothing but rabid mongrels.”
“I presume,” Bishop continues, ignoring that, “you were comparing me to him earlier because the Albion Pack risks losing its seat and its territory. That is what I’m here to prevent.”
Hamish peers over his wineglass as he drinks. Then he sets it down. “Go on.”
Bishop lifts his brows. “Do you wish to hear my plans for avoiding that?”
“No, I’m waiting to hear you tell me why it’s in my interests to ensure that never happens, and use that to push your agenda. Fearmongering, with an undercurrent of threat.”
There is a long pause, one that eventually becomes so awkward even Hamish shifts in discomfort.
Bishop speaks, his voice even. “You do not know me, sir, and so I understand you did not intend that as an insult. I do not rule by fearmongering or threat. That was Silas’s way.”
“And your grandfather’s.”
Bishop’s low laugh carries an edge that has Hamish shifting again, and me drinking wine to suppress my smile. Whatever Hamish expected, Bishop is not it, and he is going to set him straight at every turn.
“My grandfather couldn’t even run a business,” Bishop says.
“He was working for my father and uncle before they were old enough for their first transformation. Now, if you mean that fear and threat was my grandfather’s way of dealing with life in general?
Even that is inaccurate. He didn’t threaten to hurt anyone.
He just hurt them. And that, I suppose, made him the threat, and it certainly made him the fear.
Stay on his good side or face the consequences. Which was wasted effort.”
“He doesn’t have a good side,” Julius murmurs.
Bishop smiles at his cousin. “Yes. Fear and threat implies a trade. Behave or face the consequences. If Montague wants a thing, he takes it, whether you’ve done anything to deserve losing it or not.
And none of that is how I lead. Ask my cousin, or if you think he’s a biased audience, ask Rufus Cain here, who has known me from boyhood.
Or ask Kenric MacDonald, who accompanied us and was a member of the Albion Pack before I joined. ”
Hamish perks up. “Cain? That’s a very old name. Henry was your cousin, then?”
“He was,” Rufus says.
“A good family. A very good family. I should have guessed it when I saw you. All the Cains are big brutes. Not too smart, but who needs brains when you’re that size.”
I tense, reminded of my father, who tossed off insults like this. But Hamish doesn’t seem to think it’s an insult. He’s smiling at Rufus like he’s met an old friend. Bishop opens his mouth, likely to defend Rufus’s intelligence, but then stops.
If Hamish thinks Bishop’s enforcer lacks intelligence, that’s to our advantage.
Julius says, “And Kenric has a cousin in your Pack. His uncle was a member as well.”
“There are a lot of MacDonalds,” Hamish says dismissively, and I try not to goggle at him.
So the Danverses, known to have madness running in their veins, are a fine family. As are the Cains, known to be dumb brutes. But the MacDonalds—part of his actual Pack—aren’t worth his time.
Because they aren’t an old werewolf lineage. That’s what matters, as our guide earlier said. The bloodline and how renowned it is, regardless of whether that renown is fame or infamy.
“How do you rule then, lad?” Hamish says, moving on.
“Strength.”
Hamish eyes Bishop. “You’re tall but middling weight. Average for a wolf your age.”
“Strength is more than physical power, though it plays a role obviously. Strength of character. Strength of mind. Strength of will.”
Hamish leans back and studies him. “So what do you want from me?”
“Support,” Bishop says. “How you provide that is up to you. What I need is to reclaim Trevelyan. I presume that when I attempt it, Beryl Levine will have something to say about that. The next step may be negotiating an end to this crisis.”
“And if that’s not possible?”
“Then we present a force strong enough that she’ll decide it’s not worth her while to press harder. She wants Cordelia as her heir, which means she needs to show her why the family cabal presents the superior option. Killing her mate and his Pack won’t do that.”
“So by support, I presume you mean sending men with you to present that force.”
“Likely, yes.”
“My men?” Sarcasm drips from Hamish’s voice. “My best fighters? My young bloods? The ones you might woo to bolster your ranks permanently?”
“The men you wish to send, whoever that might be. I can’t imagine your best fighters would be easily wooed away from you. They’re too valuable.”
Hamish grunts. To press on this point suggests there’s a reason Bishop might easily woo those fighters, that this Pack doesn’t value them for their abilities. Bishop has laid a clever trap here—if Hamish sends inferior fighters, it suggests the good ones could be swayed.
“Whoever you wish to send,” Bishop repeats. “Under the command, perhaps, of one of your sons, to ensure I behave honorably. As I said, you don’t know me, so I understand my word isn’t enough.”
“I could go,” Edwin says. “Or Angus.”
“Thanks,” Dennis says.
Edwin looks at him. “Do you want to go?”
“No, but you could invite me.”
Dennis’s tone implies he isn’t actually put out. This is just the usual banter between brothers, and he’s needling Edwin.
Angus shrugs. “I’d do it. Get me out in the field.”
“That might be a good idea,” Edwin says. “Angus does need field experience.”
“Send Angus,” Dennis says. “He doesn’t mind sleeping in the dirt. Feels right at home.”
Angus grabs his younger brother by the collar so fast that I startle, ready for a fight. But no one else bats an eye, Julius even laughing softly, and when Angus gives Dennis a shake and a growl, it’s clearly playful … which everyone recognized except the dinner guest who wasn’t raised by wolves.
“Isn’t it nice how well my lads get on?” Hamish says.