“Oh, dear Sidheag.” Dimity fairly crumpled in sympathy.
Bumbersnoot, having been set on the floor by Sophronia, bumped up against Sidheag’s ankle, his tail tick-tocking slowly.
“So if it’s not Lord Maccon with you, who is the other werewolf?” Sophronia asked.
“Don’t you recognize him?” Sidheag seemed to think his identity obvious.
“No. All the werewolves I’ve ever seen were in human form, except for Captain Niall.”
Sidheag looked inquiringly at Dimity, who also shook her head.
“That’s the dewan.”
“The dewan!” Sophronia and Dimity said it together, shocked. Only the werewolf in charge of all other werewolves. Only the queen’s personal adviser. Only the werewolf representative on the Shadow Council. Only the man who saw to werewolf assignments in the army itself!
If Mumsy knew who she just called an animal she’d be mortified.
The door opened and in came Captain Niall, decidedly too tall for Gresham’s clothes. The trousers were short as a cockle-hunter’s and the shirt was basically cuffless. Still, the important parts were covered. The captain, who was a bit of a fancy lad, for a werewolf, was uncomfortable in his shrunken getup, but presentable enough to be among humans. He came to crouch next to Sidheag, his handsome face deeply concerned, his trousers straining alarmingly. He put his back to the fire and placed a hand on the arm of the couch near Sidheag’s repulsive tweed skirts. His fingers twitched slightly, as if he would like to stroke her hand in sympathy. Sidheag, for her part, leaned into his presence, taking reassurance there. Neither had the courage to actually touch.
They exchanged a single brief yet deep look of… sympathy? Something more?
Sophronia couldn’t pinpoint what, but something significant had occurred between them on their recent journey. A connection had shifted, as if they saw each other as equals now.
Then Captain Niall said, as there was no point in hiding the fact that both werewolves had overheard the conversation, “If I may present the gentleman in question?”
Sidheag said, airily, “Oh, of course, no secrets here.”
“There are always secrets,” corrected Sophronia softly.
The dewan entered the Temminnicks’ shabby family parlor. Oh, how chagrined Mumsy will be. Then again, perhaps not. As silly as Captain Niall’s appearance was, the dewan looked sillier.
He was a large man who had been metamorphosed somewhat late in life. He had dark hair tinged with gray, and a wide face with deep-set eyes. His mouth was a little too full, reminding Sophronia of Felix. He had a cleft in his chin, and his mustache and muttonchops were quite bushy. For a werewolf who was at least a hundred years old, the facial hair was stylishly modern. Unfortunately, Gresham’s clothing was stretched to indecency. It was doing little to disguise the necessary, and looked as if it might stop doing that at any moment. All the protruding parts, of which there were a great deal, were covered in such a quantity of hair as to make the young ladies present wonder if the dewan were not partly wolf all the time.
Sidheag did not show the leader of all English werewolves any deference. She didn’t even bother to stand, merely saying, “Lord Slaughter, may I present my dearest friends, Miss Temminnick and Miss Plumleigh-Teignmott?”
The dewan, with great dignity for a man so experimentally dressed, answered with, “Young ladies, how do you do?”
Dimity and Sophronia curtsied, careful not to show any neck, as custom demanded. “My lord,” they said in unison.
Sidheag said, lip curled, not looking at the great man, “He says there is nothing even he can do to change this outcome and I must stay out of it.”
The dewan sighed the sigh of an older gentleman dealing with a hysterical young girl. “Lord Maccon has made his bed and must lie in it. That bed is Woolsey. Frankly, with Vulkasin the way he was, it is not so terrible an outcome. Politically, Lord Maccon will be good to have closer to town. I’ll give him plenty to do, keep him out of trouble.”
Sidheag wailed, “But he has left Scotland forever! I must be allowed to attend my pack!”
“Admirable sentiments, as I have said before, young lady. But they aren’t your pack, you are not a werewolf, and this is not your concern. Allow Captain Niall and me to manage Kingair, and me to deal with their punishment for attempted treason. Exile, I think, for a decade or two. Now that we have delivered you back to the safe bosom of your friends, we must be on our way. Captain, shall we?”
Captain Niall stood, unhappy, and cleared his throat. He said to the assembled young ladies, “I do not blame Lord Maccon for his choices. For an Alpha werewolf to be betrayed by his Beta—there is no worse pain. It cuts through the heart and mind, but also what is left of the soul. It tears at the bonds of pack, the instinct that holds us as one unshakable group. Lord Maccon could never unify Kingair again after this, nor would he want to. But he is still strong enough to hold a pack. Woolsey will do well for him. Please, take care of your friend, and keep this in mind? Try to get her to understand?”
Sidheag looked betrayed and unreasonably angered by his statement. She jumped to her feet, hands fisted at her sides. “I dinna give two tail shakes about Gramps! He has abandoned the others. What are they to do? What are we to do? How will my pack survive without an Alpha? Who will look after my uncles? Who will plead for a lesser punishment?”
Captain Niall shook his head sadly. “Please, give us time, Lady Kingair. This is not your concern.”
Sidheag said, softly, looking to Sophronia for understanding, “I asked Gramps to bite me.”
Sophronia gasped.
Dimity let out a squeak of alarm.
Bumbersnoot trundled in a shocked circle, as if he actually understood what was happening.
“Oh, Sidheag. You didn’t.” Sophronia tried to be gentle. Sidheag was suffering so much, but such a request was plain stupid.
Sidheag growled, sounding rather werewolf-like. “He refused that, too! Too young, he said. Last of the Maccon line, he said. Not ready, he said.”
“Female!” cried Dimity in frustration.
Sidheag shook her head as if tossing aside the very fact of how unbelievably risky such a request was. Maybe one in a thousand men survived the bite and managed metamorphosis into a supernatural. And for women… well, Sophronia knew of only three female werewolves in all history.
Sidheag looked to Captain Niall. “So, what are we going to do?”
The werewolf said, not unkindly, “We are going to do nothing. You three are going to return to school, like good girls. I’ve written a note explaining Lady Kingair’s extended absence.”