Lydia Dare - Wolf Next Door

Will loved the blush that settled on Prissy's cheeks. He'd never tire of that image, and just as soon as he got her back to the dower house, he'd make sure the blush covered every inch of her skin. Finally.

"William, what is that look in your eye?"

He winked at her. "I think we'd best hurry home."

Her blush deepened.

"Yes," was all she said. His heart leapt.

Within moments, Will directed Prisca outside of the manor house. They were just a few yards away when he caught a scent in the air. A combination of citric shaving lotion and wildness. Brimsworth.

A predatory instinct clutched Will's heart. "Stop," he whispered, drawing Prisca to a halt beside him.

His wife's violet eyes rounded in surprise, but Will didn't meet her gaze. He tightened his hold on her arm and scanned the area around them. He sniffed the air, searching for the lone wolf that was somewhere in their midst. Caitrin Macleod's warning was fresh in his mind. He'd be damned if that golden wolf would touch one hair on Prissy's head, let alone

claim

her.

"What is it?" Prisca asked quietly.

Movement in a nearby copse of trees captured Will's attention. "Go back to The Hall and stay beside Simon."

"You know I don't get along with His Grace," she complained.

Brimsworth's scent wafted stronger in their direction, making Will's nostrils twitch and his patience vanish. "Then stay with Ben, for God's sake. But don't leave

his

side."

"Will," she persisted, clutching his sleeve. "What is the matter?"

She wouldn't believe him if he told her. He shook his head, refocusing on the tree line almost a hundred yards away. The scent was most definitely coming from that direction. "Something I need to take care of." His eyes narrowed at her. "Priss, do as I said."

"Don't bark at me, William." Even though he was focused on the area in the distance, he could hear the frown in her voice.

"You can berate me later. Go find Ben, and do it now."

Prisca pulled out of his grasp and stalked back toward The Hall in a huff. Images influenced by Caitrin's vision haunted Will's mind. He sniffed again in the direction where Brimsworth's scent was unmistakable. Then he took off at a sprint. There was no reason for the earl to be on Westfield property. No reason, aside from his desire for Prisca. When Will got his paws on the golden wolf, he'd tear him to shreds.

He reached the tree line in no time, and he inhaled deeply. Brimsworth was somewhere close. The citric shaving lotion permeated the area. "I know you're here," he growled.

The only answer to that was a twig snapping beneath one of his own Hessians. Will stepped deeper into the woods, his eyes searching the shape of every shrub and leafless tree in the vicinity. "It's only a matter of time before I find you."

But time was not on his side. Will followed the earl deeper and deeper into the woods. He followed until he knew he was miles from The Hall. But the scent hung just outside of his reach. But only barely.

"I'm getting closer. I'll follow all night, if I have to."

Still there was no answer, yet the earl's scent was stronger than ever. Why couldn't he see the man? "Go back to Kent or London. She's

my

wife."

Then Will heard a sound behind him. He spun quickly and took a step toward the noise. But a metallic click sounded in his ears at the same time as a searing pain raced up his leg. He looked down to find the metal jaws of an animal trap as they pierced his boot and ankle. An instant later, a solid blow to the back of his head knocked him to the forest floor.

"I did warn you," he heard Brimsworth crow, just as his world went black.

***

Priss, do as I said. You can berate me later.

She fumed as she re-entered Westfield Hall. There was no reason to treat her as though she were a child. If she lived to be a hundred, she'd never understand Will's drastic shifts in mood. How could he be seductive one moment and a distant beast the next?

"Go find Ben, and do it now," she mimicked him under her breath. Then she made her way into the green parlor and flopped dramatically onto the settee, though no one was there to notice her performance.

She sighed and drummed her fingers on the ivory brocade. "Just what has gotten into him?"

"Prisca?" the Duke of Blackmoor intoned from the doorway, one dark brow arched high. "I thought you left with William."

She kept herself from groaning aloud. She hated dealing with His Grace. He always looked at her as though she was a disappointment somehow, and he wore arrogance the way most men wore shaving lotion. "I'm certain he'll be back soon," she clipped. "He asked me to wait for him here."

With any luck, the duke would leave her in peace. He frowned instead and made no movement to depart. "Odd. He seemed in a hurry."

Didn't he though? "Apparently he changed his mind. He does that a lot, I've noticed."

Blackmoor stepped into the room and poured himself a tumbler of whisky from a decanter on the sideboard. "How are you enjoying being a Westfield, my dear?"

Prisca scoffed. Loudly. "I believe I've married into madness, if you must know."

The shadow of a smile graced the duke's lips just before he took a sip of his drink. "Well, Benjamin does intend to spend most of his time in Edinburgh. So sanity will reign most of the year at Westfield Hall."

"Ben's not the problem," she grumbled under her breath.

But somehow the duke heard her. His ears actually twitched. "What

is

the problem?"

She shouldn't have been surprised that he'd heard her. Will had excellent hearing himself. Prisca sighed and looked straight into Blackmoor's dark grey gaze. "I witnessed an unborn child heal your mother." She shook her head. "That's not possible. It doesn't make sense."

He shrugged and turned back to the decanter. "Sometimes it's best not to contemplate such things and simply be grateful."

"It's still hard to believe that Elspeth is a witch, along with Miss Macleod. I mean, they're

witches

, Your Grace! That doesn't bother you?"

He looked back over his shoulder. "There are much worse things to worry about than witches, especially ones who can heal you on your deathbed."

Well, she supposed that was true. Still, it didn't seem like something the aloof Blackmoor would welcome with open arms. "Do you believe in the rest of it? Faeries and trolls and werewolves and—"

"Lycans," he interrupted. "Werewolf is a slang term."

He did believe it. She blinked at him.

Before Prisca could think how to respond to that, Ben bounded through the door with Elspeth right behind him. When his hazel eyes landed on her, the youngest Westfield brother winked at her. "Prissy, what do you think of the name 'Willow'?"

Elspeth rolled her eyes, and Prisca couldn't help but laugh. "Willow is not a

name

. It's a tree."

The fiery-haired witch dropped onto the settee beside her. "We are

no'

namin' our daughter Willow."

"I don't know why not," Ben said, then grumbled something under his breath that made the duke choke on his whisky.

"I could have gone my whole life without knowing that fact, Benjamin." Blackmoor rubbed his brow, and Prisca couldn't tell if he was amused or annoyed. The man was so difficult to read.

She turned her attention to Elspeth whose face was nearly as red as her hair. "We have a—um—bed made of willow in Edinburgh," she managed to explain.

"Where is Will?" Ben asked, glancing around the room.

Prisca shook her head. "He said I was to find you, Ben, and not leave your side."

At once the Westfield men seemed on the alert. "Why did he say that?" the duke nearly barked.

Prisca gulped as all eyes focused on her. "He wouldn't tell me. He was being very peculiar about the whole thing."