The present
Edinburgh, November 1820
The carriage took Drew and Marguerite through the Old Town on their way to Albany Street where Lindsay and Wynne Wildsmith were staying.
Drew stared out the carriage window at the extraordinary squalor—worse now than when Drew had left it almost thirty years before. Back then, all life had been here, rich and poor alike. Now it seemed that everyone was poor. From tiny, barely clad bairns playing in the sewers, to bare-breasted drunk women singing bawdy songs, to rough, surly men sloping through the shadows, conducting the devil’s business.
Drew found himself remembering the first time he’d met Lindsay. He’d told Lindsay he was an architect, one of the designers of the planned New Town. They’d spoken of what would happen to the poor of the city once the New Town was built. Lindsay had said that as soon as the wealthy left, the Old Town would go to rack and ruin.
Drew had argued with him, but Lindsay had been right.
Christ, but that seemed a lifetime ago now.
Drew couldn’t help but be relieved when the carriage crossed the North Bridge, leaving the cluttered slums behind. Soon they were driving through new and unfamiliar streets—and some strangely familiar ones that he’d had a part in designing himself. They were pristine, devoid of beggars and noisy hawkers.
Within a very few minutes, they were turning onto Albany Street and the carriage was slowing.
Oh God, he was about to see Lindsay Somerville for the first time in twelve years. His chest felt as tight as though a great rock was crushing it.
“Are you awake, mon cher?” Marguerite said, interrupting his thoughts. “We are here. You might at least pretend to help me down.”
“Sorry,” he muttered, and climbed out of the carriage, pulling down the steps and offering Marguerite his hand, which she delicately laid her own in before lightly stepping down.
By the time she’d alighted, the door of the townhouse was open and Wynne Wildsmith stood there, elegant in a dark blue coat, fawn breeches and polished Hessian boots. Once upon a time, Wynne would have been opening that door in his role as Lindsay’s manservant, but not these days. Now he only played that role when it suited them to pretend. For the most part they presented themselves to the world as what they were: companions and friends—though Wynne looked like the older of them now.
Wynne had changed a great deal since those early days. He had been a willowy youth when Drew first met him, in his early twenties. He’d been Lindsay’s valet then, and a most unprepossessing young man. But as the years had passed, he’d grown in both physical confidence and character, his slender body filling out and his slightly anxious reserve gradually transforming into a quiet strength. In the twelve years since Drew had last seen him, he seemed to have developed something else, a certain presence and poise.
And clearly, Drew thought, as he mounted the steps to meet him, he had also learned in those years to mask his scent. Disconcertingly, Drew could detect nothing from him. He glanced at Marguerite but she was watching Wynne—and he her, his gaze steady.
“Mim,” he said simply when she reached him, and Drew’s eyes widened at his use of that intimate pet name that he’d only ever heard Francis use before now—or Lindsay occasionally, though she always told him off for it. Marguerite didn’t scold Wynne, though. She raised a hand and laid it on his cheek in a gesture so tender, Drew didn’t know where to look.
For a moment Wynne closed his eyes. When he opened them again, his eyes were sad, and then Marguerite was walking past him, into the house.
It was only then that Wynne seemed even to notice Drew, and he did not appear happy to see him. “I was not expecting you,” he said, frowning. “And neither is Lindsay. Why are you here?”
“Marguerite asked me to come with her,” Drew said shortly.
“I see.” Wynne stepped aside, an odd reluctance in his movements even as he gestured at Drew to enter. “You’d better come in then,” he said. “Lindsay’s sleeping just now at any rate.”
“Is it not rather early for him to be abed?” Marguerite asked. She had halted a few steps beyond them.
“He sleeps a great deal just now,” Wynne replied in a neutral tone. His eyes betrayed him though—the pain in them was clear.
For a time, Drew had wondered whether Wynne was in love with Lindsay. Even before Drew’s transformation, when first he’d met Wynne, he’d sensed something between them. A closeness that was unusual for a master and servant. He’d even felt a faint jealousy over their obvious intimacy, envying the ease of their friendship and obvious affection for one another while insisting he wanted nothing to do with Lindsay himself. Not even once he’d realised there was nothing loverlike between the two men had that envy entirely vanished.
Once they were all inside the house, Wynne led them up a flight of stairs and into an elegant drawing room. It was illuminated by several branches of candles and a blazing fire. He crossed the room to ring the bell and after a few moments a young man appeared, to whom Wynne gave a few murmured instructions while Marguerite settled herself down on a small sofa and Drew paced to the mantel. He felt too on edge to sit.
“So,” Marguerite said, once the servant had departed, closing the door behind him “How is he?”
Wynne sighed heavily. “Not well.”
Marguerite shook her head. “I do not understand it. I have never known a werewolf to become sick like this. Why Lindsay? What is wrong?”
Wynne took a deep breath. “He has not become sick, Mim. He is… dosing himself.”
Marguerite’s gaze narrowed. “Dosing himself? With what?”
Wynne hesitated, clearly steeling himself. “With Wolfsbane,” he said at last.
Marguerite’s expression transformed from confused to horrified in an instant.
“What?” she cried, rising to her feet.
Drew looked between them, puzzled. “Wolfsbane? Is that different from the ’bane Francis gives me for travelling?”
“Yes!” Marguerite hissed. “The ’bane you’ve had is a vastly diluted form of Wolfsbane—the tincture is precisely measured so that the poison is just enough to hold back a wolf’s beast for a few hours and no more. Pure Wolfsbane is an incredibly powerful poison. It’s one of the few things that can kill a wolf outright in a large enough dose.” She turned back to Wynne. “You surely don’t allow him to keep that stuff in the house?”
Wynne just stared at her, a faint flush rising in his cheeks.
“You do,” she accused, and her angry glare would have had a lesser man turning on his heel and fleeing. But Wynne was made of sterner stuff.
“My craft requires me to know how to use all plants,” he said mildly.
He was still practising magic then.
“You are administering this for him?” Marguerite hissed. “Wynne! I cannot believe you would do this.”
“I have explained the consequences to him,” Wynne said quietly, “And advised him against it but he knows what he wants—and it’s his decision to make, Mim, not mine. If I did not provide it to him, someone else would. And they would probably get the measurements wrong—the amounts are very finely balanced.”
Marguerite paced the room, agitated. “Why is he doing this?” she demanded.
“He is preparing.”
“Preparing for what?” Marguerite shot back.
Wynne’s expression was unreadable. “For Duncan MacCormaic’s return.”
“He is waiting for him?” Marguerite cried, incredulous. “That’s—that’s absurd. Why?”
Calmly, Wynne said, “It is not my place to speak for Lindsay. You should discuss this with him.”
“Then wake him!” Marguerite snapped. “Let us have it out, here and now! I see I am going to have to put my foot down on this so it may as well be—”
“My darling, I do wish you’d stop shouting.”
All three of them whirled around at the sound of the new, and very familiar voice. Drew’s heart was suddenly beating wildly, every sense on high alert.
His gut lurched at his first sight of the graceful figure in the doorway.
Lindsay.
Though this was a Lindsay he had never seen before. His always slender body was thinner than Drew had ever seen it, swamped by a crimson satin dressing gown that hung open over his crumpled breeches and shirt. And his face… it was still beautiful but unmistakably etched with pain and exhaustion, the pale skin almost translucent, bluish bruises beneath his dark eyes.
Oddly, it was his hair that shocked Drew the most. For the first time in all the years that Drew had known Lindsay, it was short, cut close around his neck and ears. Drew’s heart twisted painfully in his chest at the sight, suddenly overwhelmed by a profound sadness he couldn’t account for. Such a stupid thing to react to. As though it mattered to Drew whether Lindsay wore his hair long or short. He fisted his hands by his sides, resisting his wolf’s demand that he stride over there and thread his fingers into the dark mop, tip up Lindsay’s face and gaze into those familiar dark eyes.
“Drew,” Lindsay said now, his voice husky. “How are you?”
Drew’s mouth was dry, his throat tight.
“I’m well,” he managed, amazed at how ordinary he sounded, as though this wasn’t the first time he’d seen Lindsay in a dozen years. “Busy as always, but in good health.” After a beat he added harshly, “Unlike you, it would seem.”
Lindsay actually laughed at that, seeming genuinely amused at being told how ill he looked. “I’m a little the worse for wear,” he agreed with a twisted smile, “but still standing, as you can see.”
And right then, in that moment, something struck Drew.
He had not scented Lindsay. Not as they approached the house, and not when he arrived—and not now.
He realised his heart was pounding and his throat was closing with emotion. He could feel his wolf pacing anxiously within him. This was wrong. Lindsay’s scent couldn’t be gone.
Lindsay moved forward, coming further into the room, and Drew realised that he was holding a cane in his right hand. He used it too, leaning heavily on it as he walked forward.
“Marguerite, my darling,” he said, smiling, his eyes on her now. “First Lady of the Treasury. How are your piles of gold?”
She glared at him. “Do not with your darlings and your jokes,” she snapped. “I have just learned you have been using unadulterated Wolfsbane! What are you thinking of?”
Lindsay’s smile died on his face and he halted where he stood, in the centre of the room, looking sorry and ashamed.
Drew’s heart clenched to see him so diminished. Yet even as Lindsay stood there, his new physical weakness horribly exposed, Drew could see in the depths of his eyes the unflinching strength of the man. There was something… not placid, perhaps beatific, in his dark gaze. As though he had come upon some secret of the universe.
He went to move forward again, his gait unsteady, and Marguerite rushed forward in a flurry of skirts. She took hold of his left arm and steered him deftly towards the sofa.
“Let go, darling,” Lindsay protested. “I’m perfectly capable of sitting down by myself.”
“That is plainly not so,” she replied hotly, settling down beside him. “You were obviously about to fall over.”
“I was not,” Lindsay said. “My balance is a little off but I’m used to managing it, truly. You needn’t fuss.”
Wynne said, his tone very even, “He prefers not to be helped. He snaps at me when I try.”
Marguerite didn’t even glance up at that. Her dark eyes stayed on Lindsay. “Well, he will have to get used to it. I am not about to sit here and watch him struggle for the sake of his stupid pride!” She blinked back tears. “Now, come here!” She reached for him, taking his pale face between her hands and kissed his face, then nuzzled his neck and hair in a display of intimate, wolfish affection.
He nuzzled her back. “Ah, I’ve missed you, Mim.”
“Not that name,” she muttered into his hair, and he laughed.
She drew back then. “I do not know how you can sit there and laugh. When you limp in here like a man with consumption!”
“I realise it’s alarming, my love,” Lindsay said, his voice soothing. “You are used to seeing me strong and steady, but what you have to understand is that, although the Wolfsbane weakens me physically, it has also weakened Duncan’s hold on me.”
“Oh, really? And how can you tell?” Marguerite demanded, her expression angrily sceptical. “Have you seen him since you began using it?”
“No, but—” He broke off, turning his head as the door opened again. “Ah, here is the wine.”
Marguerite pressed her lips together impatiently as the servant re-entered the room and set about pouring and serving the wine. When he was finished, Wynne said, “Thank you, Robert. You may go for the evening.”
“Very good, sir,” the young man said, and departed.
Lindsay glanced at Drew when he was gone. “Would you be a darling and sit down? I’m finding it rather distracting having you standing there. I’m not sure I can talk sensibly with you looming over me like a mountain.”
“All right.” Drew felt nervy and agitated and the thought of sitting was unappealing, but he selected an armchair opposite the sofa and settled himself into it, making a conscious effort to be still and quiet.
“So, tell me,” Marguerite said imperiously. “What are you doing to yourself?”
Lindsay took a long draught of his wine in the manner of man steeling himself, then he met her gaze. “You know that Wynne has scried for me.”
Marguerite eyed him carefully. “Yes.”
“A few years ago, he had a vision—”
“A vision,” Marguerite repeated, and her dark gaze shifted to Wynne.
Wynne nodded, but did not speak, leaving Lindsay to tell the story.
“The vision told him I was ruled by three wolves,” Lindsay continued. “The first, he said, is master of my body. The second is the master of my will.”
“Your own wolf, and Duncan’s,” Marguerite surmised flatly. “And the third?”
Lindsay was quiet a moment. “The third is the master of my heart.”
For the space of a few heartbeats, there was silence. No one looked at Drew, not even Lindsay, but he flushed hotly and shifted in his dainty chair, unsettled.
Was his wolf the third wolf? His immediate thought was that it must be—who else’s could it be? But… perhaps not. Who was to say a maker bond had anything to do with the heart? Hadn’t Drew always argued otherwise?
And why did that thought make him feel so overwhelmingly sad?
It was a relief when Lindsay finally cleared his throat and continued, breaking the oppressive silence.
“After the scrying, we spoke with a friend of Wynne’s about what it meant.”
Marguerite’s scent sharpened and her eyes narrowed as she searched Lindsay’s face. At last she sighed. “You confided in this friend.”
“I didn’t tell her anything she didn’t already know about.”
“Lindsay, the first rule I taught you—”
“I know,” he interrupted. “Never tell a human what you are. I broke that rule. Again. I’m not asking for forgiveness. I think you would have done the same in my place.”
She shook her head at that but said nothing.
“She asked me if I wanted to escape my three wolves. I remember I laughed and said, ‘some of them’ but she didn’t laugh with me. She told me that I had a choice. I could escape all three, or none, but I could not pick and choose between them. She said if I wanted to go down that road, it would be painful.”
“And you said you did,” Marguerite said wearily. “Of course.”
Lindsay’s smile was sweet and a little rueful. “Yes.”
“She was the one who gave you the Wolfsbane idea?”
Lindsay nodded. “She entrusted Wynne with the recipe for the poultice.”
Wynne’s expression was grim now, but he said nothing.
“Poultice,” Marguerite said awfully, her voice icy.
Wordlessly, Lindsay pulled up the wide sleeve of his dressing gown to the elbow. His arm was wrapped in linen bandage, from his wrist stretching up into the cavernous sleeve. Drew wondered how far the bandages went, and if they only covered this arm or more of his body. He did not ask though.
“The poultice is under the bandages,” Lindsay said. “We’ve built up the amount of pure Wolfsbane in there over time.”
“What does it do?” Drew said, the words blurting out before he could stop them.
Lindsay met his gaze. His expression was odd, He looked sorry, Drew thought.
“Eventually, it will sever the bond between me and my wolf,” Lindsay said. “It takes time though. Over two years to get where I am now.”
“And where are you now?” Marguerite asked, her eyes glittering with angry grief.
“I don’t shift anymore, or feel my wolf’s presence—at least not when I’m wearing the medicine. When I take it off, I begin healing.” He frowned, as though that was a bad thing. “If I have the medicine off for a while, I can begin to detect him, but only distantly, as though he’s locked up a long, long way away.”
“Do you still have your wolf senses?” Drew croaked.
Lindsay shook his head. “Not really. All my energy is being expended fighting the Wolfsbane and keeping me alive.” He smiled as though that was a good thing, and Drew flinched.
Marguerite gave a strangled sob and immediately, Lindsay was contrite. He turned to her, taking her hand between his own.
“I’m sorry, darling. I was being facetious. Listen to this though—this is the good part, the reason I am doing this.” Touching her chin, he urged her to look at him and said softly, “I don’t feel my connection to Duncan anymore either. And here’s something even better: I’m not afraid anymore.” He smiled brilliantly. “I feel as though I’ll never be afraid again.”
Marguerite didn’t say anything to that but her expression remained tormented, eyes glinting with unshed tears.
Lindsay let her go and turned his attention to Drew. “As for our bond—yours and mine—the Wolfsbane has worked there there too. You must have noticed when you came in.”
“Noticed what?” Drew said stupidly.
“Why, that it’s gone!” Lindsay exclaimed. “Or near enough.” He actually seemed amused and all Drew could do was stare at him, paralysed.
“Gone?” he said blankly. He felt odd, as though he’d been struck by something very heavy and the pain hadn’t registered yet. A stunned, numb feeling. Closing his eyes, he reached out with his senses, desperately searching for the bond he’d been resisting for the last thirty years.
He couldn’t feel it.
Lindsay was right.
“I didn’t notice,” he muttered through numb lips. A moment later the truth dawned on him and he opened his eyes, meeting Lindsay’s dark eyes. “That’s because it’s been fading for a while, isn’t it? Over the last two years, my sense of you has been… diminishing. Recently there have only been brief moments when I felt it. I thought that was because I was getting better at controlling my wolf, not because you—you—” He stuttered to a stop, staring at Lindsay, his stomach twisting.
All these months he’d thought he’d been getting stronger, more in control of himself. Congratulating himself on it.
And all the while, it was only because the bond had been deteriorating. Because Lindsay had been steadily eradicating it.
How had he not known? Its absence felt so suddenly obvious.
His bond to Lindsay wasn’t there anymore and he felt as though he was missing a limb.
“I thought it was fading,” Lindsay said excitedly, “but I wasn’t entirely sure what was happening—it’s difficult to tell only from one side. But you felt it too, yes?”
Dumbly, Drew nodded, his heart twisting painfully when Lindsay’s smile grew. Christ, what was wrong with him? He’d wanted this! For years.
“Good,” Lindsay said, smiling. He canted his head, studying Drew “That is good, isn’t it? You’ve wanted to be free for such a long time. I thought I could never give you that back but look at us now! I can’t feel the bond between us at all, can you? And when my bond to my wolf finally severs—which will be any day now—you will be entirely free.” He gave a laugh, bright with incredulity, his dark eyes shining as they invited Drew to share his astonished joy.
And God, but Drew couldn’t do it. He sat in the dainty chair, staring at Lindsay, his mind teeming as he tried to find some acceptable words, while inside him his wolf pawed and scrabbled around, searching for the long-hated bond that now seemed to be gone.
Gone forever.
Like Lindsay’s scent.
His wolf began to rise. He felt it—rising uncontrollably, demanding to be let out, as it used to in the early years before he mastered it.
“Drew?” Lindsay said, his smile faltering. “Aren’t you pleased? It’s what you’ve always wanted and—”
Drew stood abruptly. “Of course I’m pleased,” he said in a rush. “It’s the best news I could have had. I just need to—it’s a lot to take in. I need to go. I’m sorry.”
He didn’t wait to hear what Lindsay said to that, or what anyone else said for that matter. Striding across the parlour, he yanked open the door and rushed out of the room.
“Drew, wait!” Marguerite called after him, but he ignored her. Ignored too the swift footsteps that followed him, though he let them catch him up just before he reached the front door, turning to confront Wynne Wildsmith.
“Are you all right?” Wynne asked urgently. “I saw—was your wolf rising?”
“Yes,” Drew whispered.
Wynne laid a firm hand on his arm. “Can you control it till you’re safe to shift?”
Drew nodded. “I—yes, I can control it for a little, but I will need to shift soon. Tonight. Christ.” He shook his head unhappily. “I usually only shift on the full moon. I try to keep it in check the rest of the time.” And then he remembered what Lindsay had just said about the Wolfsbane stopping him from shifting at all. “Oh God, Lindsay can’t shift, can he? Not even at full moon. How does he bear it?” He covered his face with his hands and rubbed hard, then took several deep breaths before he glanced at Wynne again. “I’m sorry, I must go.”
Wynne nodded and reached past him to open the door. “You know where we are. I was not welcoming earlier—I’m sorry, Drew. But you can always come here. At any time, in any form. I’ve put a charm on the house that lets me know when a wolf is near. I will be looking out for you.”
“Don’t say that,” Drew said desperately. “I need to stay away from him.” And without waiting to hear another word, he stumbled out the open door and ran off into the night.