Page 65 of The Wolf Queen’s Curse

I tell him what I have in mind.

We dress and return to the mouth of the forest, where Julius and Rufus soon join us. They’ve been walking the perimeter for nearly two hours, but neither even jokingly complains. They also don’t comment on the state of our attire or Bishop’s bloodied knuckles or the twigs in my unbound hair.

When Bishop says, “I fear I’ll have no choice but to accept Hamish’s terms,” neither says a word about that either. Julius murmurs, “You will do what you must,” and Rufus only grunts, with a look around. In other words, they both know that’s not Bishop’s actual decision, but he needs to say it aloud, in case we’re overheard.

I cast a quick privacy spell and say to Julius, “My spell only works on myself and one other person or I’d use it so we can all speak.”

Julius nods.

“For now,” I continue, “we need to make Hamish think Bishop is giving in to his demand. Which means he can’t agree too quickly nor too slowly, both of which would make Hamish suspicious. Bishop could use your advice on that, Julius.”

“Certainly.”

“I know you need to talk in private, and I wish I could cast this on the two of you. Beryl used a version that includes more people. I’ll learn that when I can. For now, while it’ll be awkward, I’ll need to pass messages between you two.”

“Will that take a lot of spell power? Casting and recasting?”

“It’s the best and safest way for you two to communicate. Is there anyone about? Close enough to see your mouths moving without any sound?”

“We caught scents on the breeze,” Julius says. “No one came close, but we should err on the side of caution.”

“All right then. When I’m speaking to Bishop under the spell, can you talk to Rufus? Bishop can do the same when I’m speaking to you, and if someone is listening in, they’ll hear normal conversation.”

He smiles. “Good idea. Let us begin.”

When we reach the castle, it feels as if it should be well past midnight, but it is barely ten. Bishop requests a basin of hot water and soap, and after it arrives and I ward our door, he sets about cleaning every last smudge of dirt from me and checking for scratches. Another time, that would have led to other things, probably interspersed throughout the bathing, but we’re both too exhausted.

He makes sure I’m clean and he brushes out my hair as gently as my mother used to. I think of how I’d come in from running with the village boys, and my grandmother—my great-aunt Flora, as I now know—would exclaim about the state of my hair and my dress. Her protests were always good-natured, but my mother never even did that. She washed my dress and brushed brambles from my hair and wanted to hear all about my adventures.

She would have adored Bishop. So would Flora. My aunt Lenora had hated and feared him, but that was by reputation only. While she’d have been wary around him and unhappy with our union, eventually, I could see her grudgingly admitting that, for a werewolf, he was a decent enough fellow, and then coming to enjoy his quick wit, verbally sparring with him as she did with me.

There is grief in those thoughts. Grief and the rage of knowing that two of the people I loved most in the world died at my father’s hands. I feel as if I’ve been orphaned twice in my life. And no, I don’t count my father in that. When my mother died, years after my aunt Flora, I thought I could never feel so alone. Then Lenora brought me home to London, and we made our own family. Now that’s gone, too. I’m rebuilding again, with Bishop, but I won’t deny the prickles of fear when I realize how easily that could end.

I can’t tumble into that pit of fear, or I’ll never climb out. I’m here to help make sure Bishop stays safe and so, rather than grieve for what could have been—a full family with mother and aunt and husband—I’m comforted by the thought of how much they’d have liked one another. It’s reassurance that I’m where I should be.

After Bishop makes sure every ill effect of our chase has been erased, we crawl into bed with a plate of food and a bottle of whisky, and if we drink more of that whisky than normal, we deserve it, and I can reason that a half-empty bottle found in the morning will only bolster the fiction that Bishop spent a very long night struggling to make a very difficult decision.

We wake to an invitation. Hamish wishes us to join him for breakfast. That means he wants his answer, and whatever it is, I suspect he wants us gone after giving it. No dawdling and enjoying his hospitality for a moment longer than necessary. Which suits us fine.

The three sons are not at breakfast. Instead, both enforcers and the advisor and controller are there. The presence of the last has Julius eyeing the fellow, and I bite back a laugh, because I know exactly what he’s thinking.

Over breakfast, Bishop agrees to kill Franklin Doyle. His demeanor is stiff and even prickly, the proud young Alpha struggling to pretend he’s maintaining his dignity, as if this is a normal negotiation and not a slap in the face.

He does, of course, negotiate. Agree too easily, and Hamish will realize Bishop has no intention of killing Franklin Doyle.

Bishop stipulates that he wants the full eighteen wolves, and he wants them immediately upon his return, however soon that might be. That contingent will be headed by Angus. Bishop also wants Dennis. Moreover, once he reclaims Trevelyan, he wants Dennis to remain for a year, to help with the rebuilding and to cement the bond between the Packs.

It’s worded like the fostering arrangements of old, where a lord’s younger son might spend a few years with neighboring nobility. But Hamish knows it’s also a hostage situation, which those feudal arrangements often were as well. Still, he only eats his ham and then says, “It would be good for the lad to get experience. Both in the battlefield and in matters of Pack management. I haven’t chosen my heir yet. I’m waiting for Dennis to get a few years on him.”

And, also, if we’re correct about Hamish’s plans, it’ll help him to have Dennis spend a year at Trevelyan. Hamish wouldn’t unseat Bishop right away. He’d use Bishop to get Trevelyan rebuilt and then steady the Pack before installing Angus, who doesn’t seem particularly cut out for the job of rebuilding. Having Dennis already an accepted part of the Albions would ease the transition.

“One more thing,” Julius says when they’re about to finalize the agreement, and he’s so studiously not looking at the controller that I need to bite my cheek to keep from smiling.

“The timeline here has changed,” Julius says. “We hoped to secure immediate assistance to reclaim Trevelyan, and we have a Pack in need of provisions. While we have money in the Albion accounts, we don’t dare venture into London to access them. As you are asking us to delay ending the threat—and getting to our funds—I believe the Caledonian Pack should pay for our men to live in modest comfort. We need them rested and fit for battle at a moment’s notice.”

“You’re asking for a loan?”

“No, I’m asking for compensation for the delay. Bishop and I had a bit of money put aside, but we need more for the Pack.”