Alick
Alick paid extra special attention to his appearance the next morning, despite the ribbing he endured from the others. He even went so far as to ask Perkins to cast a critical eye over the knot in his cravat and the way his jacket sat. The woman was going to be terrified of him regardless, but he would at least try to cover up the wolf that stalked just below the surface.
For some reason, it mattered what Lady Isabel thought of him. He didn't want her scoffing and dismissing him as an uncouth country yokel. Although, given his size, he always felt like a bear crammed into a dress, as he could never match the effortless elegance of Ewan. He even pulled his hair back off his face and tied it with a ribbon. She had seen his scar already; let her gaze upon his full hideousness in the bright light.
Hamish and Ewan accompanied him out to the stables. As he saddled his horse, the officers leaned over the stall wall and watched.
"Going to tell me what is bothering you so much that you didn't want to say in front of the ladies last night?" Hamish asked.
Alick did the girth up another notch and then scratched the gelding. "The duke expects me to rape his daughter for five thousand pounds. What sort of man does that to his own daughter?"
"The sort of man who has no qualms in hobbling a quarrelsome broodmare," Ewan replied.
Aye. There was the truth of it. As a noble daughter, Lady Isabel's duty was to marry to her father's advantage then produce as many heirs and spares as her husband required. Her feelings on the matter were irrelevant. The better the bloodlines, the less say the mare had in the choice of stallion. Women were expected to endure in silence. More and more he liked the prospect of a job after the war protecting such women. Alick would delight in teaching abusive husbands to keep their fists off their wives.
His hand tightened around the girth strap. At times like this he felt slow and stupid compared to the others. Thoughts and gut reactions swirled around in his head but he failed to grasp hold of them. Ideas smashed together and split apart while he tried to keep apace. His mouth was too slow to form the words that needed to spill free.
He centred his mind on the leather in his hand and plucked one question to ask. "If I don't do it, he says he has another who will. His shadow man. What happened last night, once you bundled that man outside?"
Hamish's fingers wrapped around the edge of the stall. "Too many eyes were watching. A couple of Balcairn's men asked if there was an issue, so we said we thought the man was drunk and needed a chance to sober up before returning to the ballroom."
Alick's mind grabbed at another thought as it drifted by. "Balcairn had him waiting in the crowd. He was supposed to be Lady Isabel's final duel. He had a few easy fights set up to make her over-confident."
"Not surprising that the duke would anticipate his daughter wanting to fight and ensure he had an opponent of his picking who would defeat her. How unfortunate for his plans that the victor turned out to be you." Ewan's cool gaze lighted on Alick.
"But why? Surely he didn't plan all this just as punishment for the lass?" That was the chill that bit into his gut. The question he couldn't articulate. Why did the duke want his daughter defiled by the man who murdered Aster's father? There was a larger game afoot here, he could feel it in his bones. What chess pieces did the duke move that they couldn't make out?
Ewan pulled a dagger from his sleeve and cleaned his nails with the tip as Alick did up the bridle buckles. The lieutenant answered Alick without looking up. "I suspect the answer to that question will come wrapped up in the proof of treason."
Alick met his cousin's gaze as he led the gelding from the stables. "Tread carefully, Alick. We do not know if Lady Isabel is complicit in her father's plans nor what knowledge she possesses of his actions."
Alick huffed a quiet laugh. They all knew he was incapable of sneaking around. He would charge right through the middle of a crowd, flapping his arms like an upset chicken. Or he would strip off his clothes and set his wolf free. "Just have my back, Hamish, and we'll muddle through this dance somehow."
Hamish slapped his shoulder, which was all that needed to pass between men and wolves. Alick swung into the saddle and turned the horse for the ducal estate. A half hour later, he trotted up the drive at a leisurely pace, trying to rehearse polite conversation in his head and failing miserably.
By the time he halted outside the grand house his mind was so fuddled he doubted he could get his own name straight. A footman rushed to take the reins of his horse as another one came down the stairs. Alick wondered how he didn't trip; the man's nose was that far in the air he couldn't possibly see where he placed his feet.
He stopped by Alick and sniffed the air. "His grace wishes to inform you that the hunting lodge has been made available for your use."
"The hunting lodge?" Alick glared at the man, willing the obnoxious servant to meet his gaze as he drew the syllables out, as though he didn't understand the sentence they constructed.
A tic twitched in the corner of his cheek at having to converse with the Scottish yokel. "Yes, the hunting lodge. It is a small dwelling in the southwest corner of the estate. With close proximity to the forest so that you might run."
He had the smallest stutter between the words might and run. The duke had obviously informed his staff that Alick was an Unnatural. He placed a bet with himself that he wouldn't be allowed inside the house now.
The first man led his horse away, and Alick watched the direction it was taken in before answering, "Is that so? And I can use this lodge, you say, even go inside and sit on the furniture? I do hope my fleas don't drop into the rugs."
The tic spasmed and the man inhaled, but he seemed to be holding his breath. "Yes. One of the men will show you, when your visit here is concluded."
Sounded suspiciously like the duke wanted Alick tucked away in a hidden corner. Or perhaps it would make him easier to watch? "Awfully kind of his grace."
The servant spied his escape and turned to leave.
"Where might I find Lady Isabel this morning? I'm assuming she's not sitting in the parlour waiting for me to call." It was cruel to make the man field his questions, but served him right for thinking the duke's crest made him superior to his fellow man.
"She is in the Greek meditation garden. Now if you'll excuse me." He scampered back up the main stairs as though a hound from Hell snapped at his heels. Perhaps the poor fellow simply didn't like being outside in the fresh air and sunshine?
Alick set off to find the Greek meditation garden. He wandered for some time and found an ornamental pond with flashing gold carp. Next he encountered a petite parterre that made him feel like a giant striding over verdant walls, and, beyond yet another hedge, a regimented rose garden. For such an enormous estate, there seemed to be a distinct lack of staff to ask for directions. Or were they all hiding in the bushes, keeping away from the dreadful Scottish wolf being used to punish Lady Isabel?
He waged an internal battle with the wolf as to what skin he was wearing today. His face wore a scowl and the scar irritated him. He kept running his finger down the groove to alleviate the itch. The scar always bothered him when trouble was afoot, but the others laughed at him when he mentioned it. Another thing he kept locked up in his dark recesses.
Just as he was about to retrace his steps and go back to the beginning, he passed through a doorway carved in dense yew and found what he assumed was the Greek meditation garden. But it was being used for quite a different purpose than quiet contemplation.
The quiet space held two enormous marble benches, modelled after Grecian day beds with rolled ends, that sat beneath arbours of white roses. In each corner of a close-cropped square of lawn stood a large plinth. Atop each pillar stood a marble bust, each of a different man with laurel leaves in his hair. Alick assumed these were the Greeks, but there was just a distinct lack of meditation. The statues were being used as corner markers for an impromptu boxing ring.
Within the square, Lady Isabel and a footman sparred. Well, Lady Isabel sparred. The footman looked like he was trying to ward off an attack from pudding, given the limp way he held his hands.
Today the scandalous young lady wore pale breeches, a linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a charcoal grey fitted waistcoat. Tall riding boots enclosed her slender calves. Alick was starting to see the appeal of meditation if he could sit and reflect on this sight for a while.
The woman in question glanced at him and scowled. Apparently distaste for him was endemic on the estate. It was enough to hurt his feelings.
"What do you want?" she asked as she circled her opponent, or, as Alick christened him, the pudding-tosser.
Ianthe labelled her rude; Alick considered it direct. No need to dance around polite pleasantries and pointless observations about the weather with this one. He scratched his chin and considered how to approach the thorny lass, whose own father considered her a conundrum.
A vague memory jumped to his mind about rolling a hedgehog in mud, tossing it onto a fire, and waiting for it to bake hard. Then you could crack the creature open and remove all the prickly quills from the soft flesh. Perhaps the lass needed tossing in mud to reveal the soft flesh underneath? He blinked at the images conjured in his mind. Best keep that idea tucked at the very back of his head.
"I thought we could talk and get to know one another better." Or not talk; he didn't really mind. You learned just as much by watching someone.
She rolled her shoulders and then her eyes. He got the impression she didn't like him.
"Why would I want to converse with you? I don't have any need for a dog. Would you like me have a servant toss a stick for you to chase?" She placed another blow on the torso of the hapless pudding-tosser.
Alick sighed. Had the duke assembled the household after he was gone and told everyone the Highland Wolves were all lycanthropes who could shift into wolves, or had he simply said his new son-in-law was a mangy cur? A growl of annoyance came from deep inside him. "I'm a wolf, not a dog, and I don't chase sticks. I thought since we are to be married, you might want to converse beforehand."
She snorted as though the distinction was irrelevant and danced on her toes as she spoke. "You are either a willing participant in my father's scheme, or a deluded canine. Which is it?"
Lupine, he mentally corrected her, and longed to show her how different a wolf was from a mere dog. Hauling his mind back on track, he didn't like either of her options. It would appear that not only did she not like him, but she also had a low opinion of him. "Why can't there be a third option?"
"Oh? Such as?" She ducked left as the wet blanket lobbed an invisible blob of jelly to the right.
He drew a breath, wondering if he dared say the words that wanted to spill forth. Silly words that revealed far too much. Bollocks. What did he have to lose? She already thought he was an idiotic dog. He set the words free on his exhale. "I saw a woman waiting for a man to step forward and fight for her."
She missed her punch and went wide, allowing her opponent to strike her torso. The footman froze in horror, no doubt imaging the duke acting in retaliation and setting him to clean the privies or remove his privates. He started gushing his extreme apologies, which just seemed to annoy the woman. Isabel brushed him away.
"Why don't you go back to the house, lad?" Alick said as he stripped off his jacket and waistcoat and tossed them to the marble bench. The neatly tied cravat followed next, and he was damned grateful to toss that aside. "I'll keep an eye on Lady Isabel."
The footman nearly crumbled in gratitude and he scampered through the garden before Alick changed his mind. Isabel stood her ground and eyed him with a wary stare as his rolled up his sleeves.
"You would spar with a lady?"
He laughed. "If you want to learn to fight properly, you need a decent fighter to teach you. Not a limp biscuit who only knows how to ladle soup."
She narrowed her gaze, but he assumed her silence was acquiescence. As he moved into her makeshift ring, she lifted her arms but kept her weight on the back of her heels, as though too cautious to rock toward him. He kept the scowl on his face as they circled each other.
He had never been a talker, and she just seemed to run verbal circles around him anyway. Instead, he corrected her form by butting his foot against hers. Or knocked a hand to raise or lower an arm as she struck out. One finger to her torso was enough to change her balance. She proved to be a quick study and soon lost her caution and threw her weight into each punch as her self-assurance grew.
Alick grunted as she struck his forearms, or his stomach when he shielded his face from her blows. He thought she would vent her anger like a kitten swiping at a ball of yarn. To his surprise, the woman didn't pull her punches. She fought more like a big cat.
Ianthe's words echoed in his mind: a wolf and panther locked in eternal battle. Was this what she saw? Was Lady Isabel his match? The wolf huffed inside him. It thought so.
They continued to trade blows and he landed sufficient light blows on her to make her work harder for the punches she scored. He admired someone who threw themselves into a task and didn't hold back. His blood stirred, as did other parts of his anatomy. He had a weakness for strong, troublesome women.
"We are to be wed; are you not a little curious about me?" The more he saw of her, the more he wanted to know. He now understood why her father called her a conundrum. She was a puzzle he wanted to unravel. A treat he wanted to taste and savour over hours, weeks, and years.
She laughed. A light sound, tinged with just a little of something not quite level. Perhaps sadness at the trap her father laid, or hysteria at being forced to wed the Highland Unnatural. The law giving them the same rights as all other Englishmen was only recent. Society had not yet had time to fully adapt to the creatures around them, which had previously lived hidden existences.
She struck out with another blow to his head. "I am the daughter of a duke and you are a dirty Unnatural. Do you really think my father would cast me to the swine?"
She really did have a caustic tongue. He caught her hand as she punched him in the gut and pulled her close, then snatched her other hand as she threw a sideways hit. She struggled but couldn't free her fists from his grasp. "Swine? I'll have you know I'm a soldier and a wolf, not a swineherd or a pig shifter. Now if you have a previous engagement or understanding with a noble, I shall of course step aside for him."
Isabel sucked in a breath and pain flashed behind her brown gaze. There was no one else, they both knew that, because no one wanted her. Except Alick. She lowered her head and looked away. As she pulled once more, he let her go.
"Come, lass, we are to be man and wife. We must find a way to get along with one another." He offered the proverbial olive branch, hoping she would see that he simply wanted to protect her from the storm bearing down on her father. If they could prove he was a traitor grasping for the crown, she would be left friendless and alone. Except he couldn't tell her that. What did she think were his motives, solely the purse? He wondered if anyone had ever wanted the lass for the woman inside.
She raised her head, her eyes bright with tears she refused to shed. "You are a fool. There is not now, nor will there ever be, anything between us. This is just an elaborate charade my father is orchestrating to amuse himself. The fact you are a lycanthrope was supposed to horrify me into submission and have me begging Father's forgiveness."
She turned and walked away, and a little of his pain eased as he watched her leave. As her breeches-clad derrière disappeared through the greenery, Alick thought women wearing men's fashion had much to recommend it.