Chapter Forty-One
FORTY-ONE
Three days have passed since that afternoon at Trevelyan.
The Alpha challenge has been settled. Remarkably few disagreed with the outcome—only three Cambrian wolves left, two of them saying they just need time to digest it all.
Money has been sent to the women at the Cambrian house, to allow them to start new lives, though they’re welcome to stay at the house in the interim.
As for Felix, I got to play nurse during his surgery, with Julius snarling the whole time about how Silas had interrupted his surgical training and if he failed, it was entirely Silas’s fault for being so shortsighted.
That was my father in a word. Shortsighted.
And in that, he is the opposite of my husband, who will ensure Julius finishes his education.
All that grumbling was only to cover Julius’s own fears. The surgery was successful, and Felix is recovering at an inn, with Tabitha taking care of him and Wallace watching over them both. They’re at that inn because the Pack is no longer at Trevelyan.
Ann and I are watching a pair of castle gates, waiting for them to open.
At one time, we’d never have gotten so close without being seen.
The point of castles is to guard the inhabitants, which means keeping the land clear on all sides.
But the Caledonians have let the forest grow for their own use, and we’re tucked into a stand of trees, watching that gate.
When it swings open to let a coach depart, we walk out.
We don’t get far before the driver spots us. The coach stops a hundred feet away, and a burly man gets out.
“Whatever brought you here, ladies, turn around now,” he shouts. “There’s nothing here for you.”
“Oh, but I believe there is.”
Ann and I walk closer, and the man’s frown grows. We’re both attired in our best gowns, with our hair up, our gloves on. If he thought we were besotted brothel workers who’d followed their customers home, he’s realized his mistake.
And then he must see my face, because he jerks back.
“Aren’t you…?” he begins. A deep inhale answers his question, and his frown deepens even more.
“Cordelia,” I say. “Bishop Daniels’s mate.”
“What are you—?”
He’s cut short by the coach door opening. Hamish starts getting out, and the burly man—one of his enforcers—puts up a hand to stop him. Then the enforcer surveys their surroundings and—seeing nothing amiss—lowers that hand.
“Mrs. Danvers,” Hamish says. “I presume your husband perished in his attempt?”
“Things did not go as planned.”
A snort. “Pride goeth before the fall. And now you’ve come to ask for some sort of compensation? I paid your husband handsomely enough.”
I say nothing.
Hamish sighs. “I suppose I can contribute to your widow’s fund.”
He snaps his fingers, and a young wolf hops from the coach. “Run back to the castle, boy. Tell my controller to give Mrs. Danvers fifty pounds.”
The young wolf takes off at a lope. Hamish sweeps off his hat in a mock bow. “The boy will see to your needs. I fear I must be off. I have—”
“Business in Edinburgh,” I say. “Meeting with your lawyer.”
His pause is deliciously long.
I arch a brow. “Did you think we were lingering here in hopes you’d appear? Tell the boy to wait.”
“Excuse me?”
“You!” I call after the young wolf. “Wait by the gates. There’s something you need to witness.”
A movement behind me must catch Hamish’s attention. His chin jerks up, eyes narrowing.
“Back in the coach, sir,” the enforcer says.
“What nonsense is this?” Hamish snaps.
This “nonsense” is Rufus and Julius, in wolf form, appearing from the stand of trees.
Hamish’s enforcer continues urging his Alpha back into the coach.
When that fails, the enforcer moves Ann’s way.
I lift my fingers in a knockback, but I don’t need to launch it.
With a roar, Rufus launches himself between Ann and the enforcer.
“None of that,” I say. “My husband plays fair and so should you. My cousin and I are here as messengers. You don’t shoot the messenger.”
“And what is the message?” Hamish grinds out.
“Boy!” I call to the young wolf, still poised by the gates. “Go and tell the others what you’ve seen.” He hesitates, and the enforcer wheels and snarls, “Go!”
“There,” I say. “The boy will tell your Pack, so no one can say my husband ambushed you.”
“But your husband is dead.”
I turn to Ann, frowning. “Did I say that?”
“You did not,” she says.
“What game is this?” Hamish snaps.
I widen my eyes. “No game, sir. You sent my husband on an errand, did you not?”
Another movement behind me catches Hamish’s attention. I don’t look over. I know what he sees. Bishop, in wolf form, trotting from the forest.
Bishop stops sharply at my side and throws what he’d been carrying in his teeth. Hamish jumps like it might be a grenade. Then he sees what it is.
Franklin Doyle’s severed head.
I curtsy. “Ask, and ye shall receive.”
Hamish nudges the head with his foot, as if to be sure it’s real. The stench of decomposition should tell him that, but he still checks.
Then he smiles.
“What a good boy,” he says to Bishop. “You’re a useful pup, aren’t you?”
The gleam in Hamish’s eye says he’s already thinking of all the ways he can utilize an Alpha who’ll do his bidding. It’s the enforcer who shifts his weight, looking uneasy.
“Sir…” he says.
Hamish waves. “Stop fussing. The pup did as he was told. He fetches very well.”
“He does,” I say, putting my hand on Bishop’s head. “Bishop always goes above and beyond. No half measures for my mate. You asked for the head of the Cambrian Alpha, and he brought you that, along with…”
I lift a hand, and the enforcer’s breath catches.
“The Cambrian Pack,” I say.
Behind me, wolves emerge from every stand of trees, near and far, as both the Cambrian and the Albion Packs appear, all in wolf form.
“Sir…” the enforcer growls.
The first hint of fear touches Hamish’s eyes, but he blinks it back and straightens. “You returned my men? Thank you. I’ll take the ones I actually missed. The rest are yours.”
“They’re all ours,” I say. “Bishop’s new Pack. He didn’t kill Franklin Doyle for you. He killed him for the Cambrian Pack, to free them from a tyrant, just as he did with my father. And both Packs are…” I wave at the wolves. “Grateful.”
I look at Ann. “That seems to be the way of things, doesn’t it? Those who are under a tyrant’s rule are grateful to be freed of it. And of him.”
“It does seem so,” she says.
I look at Hamish. “Do you know any other tyrannical rulers who need deposing?”
He starts to step back but stops himself, and his eyes narrow. “I am no tyrant, girl, and if your mate there thinks he can overthrow me, he will find he has overreached.”
“Tyranny comes in so many forms,” I say.
“An Alpha, like my father, who rules on whim and spite. An Alpha like Franklin Doyle, who rules with greed and lies. Or a once-great Alpha who, as he ages, tightens his grip for fear of losing it. Works his wolves harder, and hoards the rewards for a select few. Lets his Pack grow so large that young wolves see no future, no way to prove themselves. Has three capable sons and yet refuses to name an heir.”
“Three capable sons,” he repeats. “Three young and strong and competent sons. And yet you think you can challenge me on my doorstep, witch?” A short laugh. “That boy you sent back to the castle is bringing my lads right now along with my Pack.”
“Your Pack, yes. As for your sons … When did you last see them?”
He goes rigid. “If you hurt—”
“We wouldn’t. But the question remains. When did you see them?”
The enforcer clears his throat. “They left for the city this morning, sir.”
Hamish turns to him and blinks. “All three of them?”
“Yes,” I say. “No one thought that odd because they genuinely enjoy each other’s company.
You thought to set them against one another, fighting to prove themselves to you.
But you raised three excellent sons, and when men like that realize they’re being pitted against one another, it binds them together. Against their common foe.”
Hamish sputters. “You have a spy. That—that man who stayed. He told you my sons would be away.”
“Conveniently away? On the same day that you’d need to leave the castle for a meeting with your lawyer.”
“My sons would never betray me,” he spits. “They love me.”
“They actually do, which is why they aren’t here. They love you, but they also love their Pack, and so they’ve stepped aside. They won’t fight you. But they won’t oppose us, either.”
The gates swing open, and Caledonian werewolves run out, some in wolf form, others still human.
“Step down and let your sons take over,” I say to Hamish. “They wish to jointly rule until they can sort things out. They have decisions to make, and they would appreciate your help with that.”
“My help? My help?” Hamish sputters. “They stab me in the back and want my help? I was solving the problem of ascension. I had it all figured out.”
“Three Packs, three Alphas?” I ask. “Bishop kills Franklin Doyle, and then you call Bishop unfit to lead, and you take over the Albion and Cambrian Packs. Divvy them up. Maybe take the Hibernians next and rule all the British Packs? A true dynasty.”
“Who told you that?” He looks toward the castle. “My advisor? That traitor.”
“Your advisor told us nothing. We theorized that was your intention, and your reaction just confirmed it. Now, if you step down—”
“I will not bend to some whelp.”
I raise my voice so everyone can hear. “Hamish’s sons wish for their father to step down.
They want to give you a better Pack. The Cambrians have already joined the Albion Pack.
Your brothers and your cousins and your friends are with us, and they are choosing to stay with us.
Your Alpha’s sons want an alliance. Two Packs, stronger together—”
“Never!” Hamish snarls.
I keep my voice raised. “That’s what your Alpha promised, though. If Bishop murdered Franklin Doyle, your Pack and ours would be allied again. Only Hamish never planned an alliance—”
“Shut your bitch mouth—”