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“Madam, I object.” He shook out a cloth and laid out a selection of victuals. “I am not two hundred years old. In Shifter years that would make me…” The math appeared to be beyond him. “Very, very old. As old as Conlon, for Odin’s sake.”
“There is much I do not know.” Beatrice stroked the bite at the back of her neck and shivered.
“Now that we are bonded, you will no longer age at the rate of the rest of humanity, and as a consequence, I have sacrificed my years to match your own.”
“That is generous of you, to lose those years.”
He sat and pulled her into his lap, his fingers finding her mark. “Those years are wasted if I do not have you to give them to.”
“Even if they are given to Lady Frost?”
“A glorious challenge, that lady. I find I would miss her did she go.”
“Oh.” Arthur played with the ring on her finger, and she held out her hand. “Charlotte made one of her faces when she saw this and would not tell me what it signified.”
He cleared his throat and said, “It is the gem of office for those whose task it is to resolve all dilemmas and right all quandaries, and I will say no more about it at the moment.”
Beatrice had another question at any rate. “I was surprised to see it set in silver. Is that not anathema toversipelles?”
“Bloody wolves.” Arthur scrubbed his hands over his head in agitation, with the delightful result she needs must comb her fingers through it to put it in order. “Their lore states they become powerless when silver is applied to their person, as in jewelry or when used as a weapon. This is a ruse, for it is gold that harms all Shifters and confines them in their essential forms, catskin or bearskin or duck feathers. As little as an ounce of gold is able to trapversipellesuntil they are free of it.”
“Then what of Lowell’s curse?”
“In fairness, that is not an exaggeration,” he allowed. “If the Alpha of any species does not bring forth young, then the pack or the sleuth or the herd disbands. It is something of a curse as it means the rest, the followers of that Alpha, will not reproduce.”
Oh, dear. “Arthur, I fear you have been unfortunate in your spouse.”
He cupped her face in his hands, his massive, warm, loving hands. “Beatrice, that creature did not take you successfully to wive, and I swear on my true essence and by Frigga and Odin and Freya and Thor, you will have as many cubs as your heart can love.”
“I anticipate prodigious diligence on your part.”
“And I on yours. As my brother and his wife decided together, so shall we, when you wish.”
Beatrice had wished for it from the start of their bed play, for what it was worth. “I am rather disappointed there will be no dancing under the crescent moon in the nip.”
“I did not say that, did I?” he teased. “I look forward to introducing you to our ways. We have a number of ceremonies and observances to be undertaken as a sleuth.”
“Disting,” she recalled. “In the spring.”
“And in the summer, Lammas to celebrate the first fruits, and Haustblot in the autumn, and of course Vetrnaetur.”
“Oh, of course. Let us not forget Vetrnaetur.” Beatrice stumbled over the pronunciation. “Will we… Must we let everyone know the bite has taken, or is it enough it will be seen?”
“There are one or two things that require we gather, and the sooner the better. We will meet the sleuth at dawn.”
“Will the bite help us call in the children?”
“It cannot hurt. But are you? Hurt?”
“No.” Her eyes sparkled. “But I am doomed to high-necked gowns for the rest of my days. Much like Viscountess Wallace.”
“Oh ho, you are a gossip when it suits you, I see.” Arthur’s eyes shone with delight.
Beatrice wrapped her arms around his neck. “You suit me.”
“And you, me.” And kissing suited them both very well.
***
