Alanna (When Hearts Dare Series Book 2) (24 page)

A woman stood at the doorway with a blank expression on her face.

Wolf’s fingers stiffened across Alanna’s back, the only indication of his having seen anything. “Who the hell are you?”

Alanna looked over her shoulder. “Oh, it’s you. Go away.” She turned back to Wolf, a disgusted look on her face.

But the woman stood stoic and unmoving.

Wolf managed to discreetly tend to himself with Alanna as his shield. He pulled the scarf at her waist into place and slid her from the table.

This time it was Alanna taking Wolf by the hand after pausing to tie the veil back across her face. She marched past the woman with Wolf in tow, and up the stairs to her room without uttering a word. She slammed the door with a resounding bang and locked it.

“Who the hell was that?”

“Maire Macintosh.” Alanna went to the window and closed the drapes. “My nanny when I was little.”

“What the devil is she doing here?”

“Most likely, she came to check the pipes for Father, since Mother sent me packing.”

“Will she inform your mother?”

“No,” Alanna said flatly.

“Your father?”

“No.”

“She’s no threat?” Puzzled, he studied her downcast eyes. “Look at me.”

She raised her head and their gazes collided, hers cold. She reminded him of himself—stubborn and full of self-made boundaries.

“You don’t like her much, do you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged. “Don’t know.”

“Aw, come on.” Wolf pivoted on his heel, his arms open, palms up. “We just got caught in an intimate act, and you’re acting like Old Chinese, leaving me to plant dragon’s teeth. What’s the goddamn mystery here?”

“None.” She slipped her arms around Wolf’s neck. “I’ve not cared for her since as far back as I can recall, and I honestly cannot tell you why. Now, you came all the way down here for that big feather bed over there.” Her words left her throat in sultry invitation. “Shouldn’t we take advantage of it?”

 

 

Hunger pangs woke Wolf. His first conscious thought was that he’d only managed to swallow a couple of bites of dinner last night before discovering the voyeur. He slid from the bed, quietly eased into his trousers and shirt, and made his way to the kitchen.

When he walked in, Maire was at the sink, washing a single dish, a pan, and a few utensils. She didn’t bother to turn around.

Wolf picked up an apple and a knife, and heaved himself onto the worktable. He cut a thin sliver off the fruit, balanced it on the edge of the blade, and slid the piece past his lips. While he ate slice after juicy slice, he took note of her hair and how some of the tight, black curls had managed to escape the severe bun at her nape.

The apple gone, he flipped the knife in the air and caught the handle with the tips of his fingers. “You look familiar.”

“Aye,” she said in a thick Scottish brogue. “Ye, as well.” She turned and stared fearlessly at Wolf.

A chill swept through him. He regarded her for a long moment, and then leisurely slid off the table. He set the knife down, tossed the apple core into the trash bucket, and sauntered out of the room, back to where Alanna still slept.

He watched her slumber, his thoughts drifting back to his childhood. He’d had another nightmare last night. He could see the man in the mirror, still shrouded in fog, but less so than in previous dreams. His mind wandered to the woman downstairs. His fingers traced back and forth over his lower lip while he racked his brain as to why she seemed so familiar. The answer would come on its own, he concluded, and he left Alanna sleeping.

Making his way back downstairs, he wandered into the impressive library. Running his hand across the gold-trimmed French desk belonging to Malone, Wolf wondered what such a coarse man would do while seated at such a fine piece of furniture. He’d probably purchased it to impress others.

Curious, Wolf opened the middle drawer. It held one piece of paper—blank—and a vial of India ink—no pen. He outlined the heavy gold ornamentation on the drawer with his fingers. “Pretty expensive just to show off.”

He paused. Years of investigating told him something was out of the ordinary. The drawer seemed shallower than the depth of the desk. He reached around and opened another, the top right. It held a blank ledger and two expensive quill pens. Wolf pulled the drawer open to its full length, then out entirely. It, too, hadn’t anywhere near the overall depth of the desk.

“I’ll be damned.” He spied a set of shelves hidden the entire length of the desk inside the front. Reaching into the dark recesses, he retrieved a stack of packets, his senses throbbing.

Receipts for slaves bought and sold filled the first packet, along with a list of dates, ships, and the ships’ entry points. A cold shudder ran through him. “Christ.” He reached back in, feeling around for anything else before starting in on the rest of the packets.

Damn, he hated sticking his fingers into dark places. Gingerly, he traced each shelf. In the far corner, his fingertips touched something flat, not much larger than the spread of Wolf’s hand and about an inch thick.

A wooden case covered in worn black velvet, perhaps some relic from the past, almost fell apart when Wolf lifted it from the desk. Carefully, he managed the frail, gold filigree clasp at its edge. An old miniature set in a gilded frame with an oval opening lay inside.

He studied the dulled image of a small boy of about three. His dark, cropped jacket was finely made, with a small white collar peeping over the neck. The matching short pants and polished shoes were of high quality as well. Short, well-manicured hair framed a face cast with the mere shadow of a haunting smile. The child stood with his hand resting against a chair’s back made of ornate twisted wood.

Surprise registered.

Wolf swore he’d seen that very chair in what had been Alanna’s nursery. He closed the box, stuffed it into the front of his shirt, and reached for the other packet.

Daguerreotypes. Only this time the breath wheezed from Wolf’s lungs at the chilling sight. Young women in compromising positions—some obviously slaves, looking as though they were fresh from their native country, while others appeared to be dressed in costumes depicting different cultures—all with wide, frightened eyes and large hands holding them down. “Mother of God.”

Bile rose in his gut. He dropped the damning pictures onto the desk as if they burned his fingers and leaned back in the chair. Were these some of the women who’d ended up in Malone’s and the young Hemenway’s brothels? Had Old Chinese been aware of any of this? Well, he damn well intended to find out.

Wolf swallowed an urge to vomit. He replaced the photos in the packets and shoved them inside his shirt. He slipped out of the manse to the carriage house, where the student who’d driven them over had spent the night.

“Bury these under the seat of the sleigh, or carry them with you until we get back,” Wolf told him. “I don’t care how you do it, just keep them out of anyone’s sight, including Alanna’s.”

He turned to leave, and paused long enough to glance over his shoulder. “And that includes you, as well. Do not, under any circumstances, find a reason to look at them.”

The student nodded in silence.

Wolf made his way to the nursery to compare the chair with that in the miniature before he returned to Alanna’s room. Just as he’d thought, it was either the same one or its twin.

“Wake up.” He nudged Alanna. “It’s nearly noon.” He kissed her ear and ran a finger down the side of her arm.

“So what?” she muttered, her eyes shut tight. She caught Wolf’s fingers and drew them to her cheek.

He pulled his hand away and shook her shoulder. “I’m not up to hanging around you and Maire. Not with the way you two have your claws exposed. I’ll find us some food to take along while you get dressed.”

 

 

As the enclosed sleigh skated silently along the snow-packed road, Wolf stared through the window at the white landscape, still sickened by what lay in the packet beneath the seat.

“What’s wrong with you?” Alanna asked.

“Nothing. I’m enjoying the scenery.”

“No, you’re not. You’ve got that distant look about you, and you’re running your thumb back and forth across your bottom lip—a habit of yours when deep in thought. And you just patronized me.”

Wolf pulled out of his trance and swept his arm around her. He touched his lips to her forehead. “A bad habit I picked up from years of living alone. Give me time to break it.” He went back to looking out the window and thinking about what he’d found, and why the hell Maire Macintosh seemed so familiar.

He leaned his head back against the leather seat and regarded her. “Did you spend time with Winston when you were little? Old Chinese said Winston lived with him in his rooms until they both moved to the farm.”

She nodded. “Winston was around before I was born. Kept safely under Old Chinese’s protective wing. We studied together when I was a little older and able to spend most of my time at the farm. Even though I wasn’t anywhere near his age, we grew close.”

Guilt flooded Wolf at what lay hidden in the carriage. “It struck me aboard ship that you seemed rather studious yourself, and the books in your room confirm it.”

She bowed her head. “The profound influence of Old Chinese.”

An image of Maire Macintosh skittered from the periphery of his mind. Realization knifed through him as if a hot poker had been shoved into his brain. The dark, curly hair, the shape of her nose and mouth. So that was why she looked so damn familiar: she was Winston’s mother! Did Alanna have any inkling? Was that why she was so distant with the woman who’d been her nanny?

She lifted a brow. “The strangest look came over you just then. What were you thinking?”

He turned away from her and stared out the window again. Dark thoughts clouded his brain. He decided he had some talking to do before they reached the farm.

 

 

Alanna first heard Wolf’s heavy sigh before he turned her way. His eyes held a strange, faraway look, his expression grim. “It’s time I told you all of what I know about myself.”

She stiffened, her senses sharpening—both at his seriousness, and at his reaching under his shirt and withdrawing the mysterious golden chain and garnet earring. She stared at the crimson bauble swinging back and forth with the rocking of the sleigh.

“Do you recall when your mother spoke aboard ship of the murder of a young woman the night after you were born, and of the disappearance of her young son?”

Alanna nodded, shifting her gaze from the earring to the vivid pain in Wolf’s eyes. The hairs stood up on her nape and shivers raced up and down her arms. “I’ve heard that sordid tale many, many times over the years. Why do you ask?”

His penetrating eyes touched her very soul. “That little boy was me.”

After making certain Alanna stayed put in the main house, Wolf turned from the barn’s window. A muscle flicked alongside his clenched jaw. He shot a scowl at Old Chinese and paced once again, his breath ragged. Stopping to pause at the window again, as he’d done for the better part of an hour, he shifted from one foot to the other. Abruptly, he began his agitated pacing once again.

Old Chinese sipped on a cup of hot tea. “Shouldn’t I be the one incensed because you left here when you gave your word you would not? Instead, you seem to be the one directing some rather vitriolic anger my way.”

Wolf took long, furious strides to where Old Chinese stood and halted in front of him. Christ, he had to get this over with, but he had no idea where to begin.

Old Chinese settled his gaze on the garnet earring plainly visible in Wolf’s earlobe.

An exasperated hiss escaped Wolf’s lips. He swiped his fingers through his hair and swallowed the bile in his throat. A litany of whatever curse words he could manage to string together flew out of his mouth. “Did you know about Malone’s depraved ways?” His chest heaved—he was fighting for air as if he’d run miles.

Old Chinese stood with his feet apart, hands folded across his chest. “What are you talking about?”

“What am I talking about?” Wolf snarled. He pulled the packet he’d found in Malone’s desk from inside his shirt and sent the contents tumbling across the floor. Dozens of photos of young females in various stages of undress, all looking scared out of their wits, scattered across the floor. “Did you know of this?”

Old Chinese nodded. “The knowledge was one of the reasons I bargained for the right to raise his daughter.”

“One of the reasons? There were more?”

“I had an ill feeling one night that all was not well in Miss Malone’s nursery, so I investigated. Her father was in the final throes of seducing the nanny in front of the girl.”

“How old was Alanna?” The images of her and Maire Macintosh warily eyeing one another in Brookline flashed through Wolf’s mind. God, he needed a drink. He snatched up his mug and strode over to the wine barrel.

“Nearly three.”

“And she was awake and taking it all in?” At Old Chinese’s nod, disgust rolled through Wolf, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He bent and gathered up the scattered photographs and tossed them on his pallet.

Old Chinese approached and sat on the bare floor near Wolf.

“Would Alanna still remember such a thing?” Wolf asked.

“Perhaps not at the forefront of her mind, but it’s there, buried deep.”

“Is that why she doesn’t care much for Winston’s mother?”

Something flickered in Old Chinese’s eyes. “What led you to believe Winston belongs to Maire?”

“The same dark, curly hair for one thing. Winston has his father’s eyes, but Maire’s nose and mouth. They both tilt their heads the same peculiar way when observing someone.” Wolf swiped his hand over his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jeezus, I’m surprised Alanna didn’t figure things out a long time ago. Do you think her father snuck into the nursery before that night and she was privy to it all?”

A disconsolate demeanor settled about Old Chinese. “More than likely. Alanna may have thought the nanny guilty of wrongdoing, but in a way she was too young to grasp. She had no way of knowing Maire was essentially her father’s captive, that she had nowhere else to go, especially since her son lived with me, close enough for her to visit him on occasion.”

At the sadness flashing through Old Chinese’s eyes, the bottom dropped out of Wolf’s anger, replaced by a sense of deep hurt that expanded in him like wet ink spreading across paper.

He picked up the photos and slipped them back into the packet. “Took me a full day to figure out why Maire Macintosh looked familiar. Winston has her look, not Malone’s. Why are you so defensive of a woman who was willing to throw her own child away?”

Old Chinese stared into the fire’s flame. “I never said she was willing.” His head lifted. He studied Wolf long and hard. “There is much you do not understand.”

“Don’t underestimate me.” Despite sounding matter-of-fact, Wolf’s gut wrenched. When had this man become like family to him? For that matter, when had Winston?

Old Chinese took a gulp of tea. “Maire was barely fifteen when Winston was born. She was little more than a child, raising a child. She was a young girl with big dreams, and very naive. By the time she’d grown wiser, it was too late for her to have a speck of freedom. Malone had taken her soul and there was no place for her to go.”

“She’s a Scot,” Wolf said flatly. “Where did Malone acquire her?”

“Scotland.” Old Chinese raised his mug to his lips.

“I thought the Malones were from Ireland.”

Old Chinese shrugged. “The two countries are not far apart.”

“The guy’s a twisted bastard,” Wolf snarled.

“Another of my many reasons for wanting to raise Alanna.” Old Chinese’s eyes narrowed. “Neither parent was good for her. I didn’t trust either one.”

“You know she’s never going back to her family. I’d go to my grave first.”

Old Chinese sat quietly, regarding Wolf through wizened eyes.

Wolf broke the tension when he scrambled up to retrieve a folded blanket for Old Chinese to sit on. “She’s of age now, so why would you stay with a man like that?”

Old Chinese’s wizened eyes glittered. “Ah,” he said, slipping into his teacher role. “It is oftentimes the most powerful position—standing shoulder to shoulder beside your worst enemy. One knows the enemy’s every move that way.”

“Why did you choose to teach Malone so much?”

“At first, it was what I was employed to do. But a wise teacher never divulges all he knows to his enemy.” The corners of Old Chinese’s mouth turned up in a cynical grin. “Besides, he could not possibly grasp the higher, mystical teachings as you and Winston have. Or as his own daughter has. His mind is intelligent and conniving, but it is weak.”

He returned to staring into the flames. “There is an old saying in kendo. Your enemy may cut your skin, but you should not miss the precise moment when you can cut him to the bone.”

“So, you have waited patiently to confront Malone? But why has he kept you around? Why didn’t he just have you done in?”

A peculiar
something
flickered over Old Chinese’s countenance, only to disappear as quickly as it had come. “Perhaps there is a part of him that is afraid of me. Or afraid of the ways I might have of divulging everything I know should I meet my demise.”

A chill ran down Wolf’s spine at the odd statement, which seemed to carry a vague threat. Changing the subject for a while might be wise. “You left your homeland and lived for years in an entirely different culture. That must have been difficult for you.”

Old Chinese shrugged.

“What of your family? Your parents?” Wolf couldn’t penetrate the deliberate blankness of the elder’s eyes, so he sipped his wine and waited.

“My mother was Chinese, my father Japanese,” Old Chinese finally said.

Wolf nodded toward the armory hanging on the walls. “That explains your unique appearance and this mishmash of teachings and hardware. But I thought those two cultures didn’t mix with each other.”

“Correct,” Old Chinese answered. “My mother was of noble Chinese blood, my father a Japanese Samurai. It was the greatest insult for the Japanese Samurai to invade the country of my mother’s husband and take his wife hostage. The Samurai raped her repeatedly, detained her until he was sure she carried his child, and then deposited her naked on her husband’s doorstep.”

Christ. Wolf downed the contents of his mug. “So, you’re a bastard with nobility on both sides.” No wonder Old Chinese carried himself with regal bearing.

He gave Wolf a gracious nod. “I was nearing twelve when I learned my mother’s husband was not my father, so I left my mother’s home and sought the Samurai out. He placed me in a school of kenseido. I became the highest-ranking and most powerful student in the temple. But one day word came to me of my father’s plan to rid himself of me—”

“You mean to have you assassinated.”

“As you wish,” Old Chinese responded. “When I learned of this, I slipped away, to the docks of Hong Kong, where I publicly fought willing opponents and demonstrated my skills for enough coin to pay for passage out of the country. That is where I met Malone.”

The wine had nearly done Wolf in, but he poured yet another mug. “Just tell me to shut the hell up if you’ve a mind to, but did you ever want a family? Ever hope to have one?”

“Of the kind you mean? Yes. Of the kind I now possess? That, as well.”

There was a long stretch of silence before Wolf pulled the box from his shirt and opened it. “Who’s that?”

Old Chinese picked up the miniature of the boy, studied it for a brief moment, then leaned over the brazier and tossed it into the fire.

Wolf jerked forward. Too late. “Why the hell did you do that?”

“Time has a way of fitting the proper pieces of a puzzle together on their own without one having to dig through a heap of cow dung to find them.”

There was no going further with that particular subject, so Wolf moved on. “You have exactly two days to inform Alanna that Winston is her brother.” He blinked, barely able to focus from all the wine.

“You forgot to expand your ki,” Old Chinese said. “In the morning you will be rewarded with my mystery tea.”

“Tell her,” Wolf growled. “If you don’t, I will.”

“And why would you do so now?”

“Because today, I told her everything I know of my past, but not of hers.” Wolf leaned over, his eyes narrowing, “I know more about her life than she does. If I withhold
anything
from her it could destroy the bond between us. I need her. And I’m not about to take any chance of losing her.” He’d managed to keep his words from slurring together.

Humor touched the corners of Old Chinese’s mouth. “Ah, it is so pleasant to listen to the rarified speech of a learned man.”

“Kiss my ass,” Wolf shot through his teeth. “You tell her. Or I will. And you’d better tell her everything. Do you hear me?
Everything.
Including what you know about that son of a bitch of a father of hers.”

“This night,” Old Chinese replied. “I will tell her this night.”

 

 

After Old Chinese had revealed his shocking news to Alanna, it was her turn to wander alone in the forest. She kept to herself for two days, with only the dog following at her heels. She slept in the student manse at night while her days were spent either on a horse or sledding in a narrow, single-person cutter drawn by a small Morgan.

The second night, she walked into the barn and sat down to dinner, this time to the left of Wolf. When she’d completed her meal, without a word she lay down, her head across his lap. Entwining her fingers through his, she pulled his arm tightly about her waist. An intense need emanated from every part of her.

That night, the pleasure—and the passion—between her and Wolf was explosive. Devouring.

In the morning, she awoke first. Silently, she watched Wolf slumber, watched the purity of him. Instinctively, the knowledge that he would always be faithful infused her. Sudden, unexplainable tears swept her cheeks. Tears again? Her emotions were oddly mercurial of late.

How lonely she’d been all her life. How hungry she’d been all these years for a simple, loving touch. To be held. To be nurtured. It was only now she realized that no one before Wolf, not her parents, and certainly not Maire Macintosh, had ever held her.

At her muffled sniff, Wolf’s arm tightened protectively around her. He shifted his position and curled her into him. The comforting effect on Alanna was the opposite of Wolf’s intentions—she burst into a cascade of tears.

“Alanna?” he whispered.

“Hush,” she said. “And just keep doing what you’re doing. It comforts me beyond words.”

 

 

 

In Wolf’s estimation, spring couldn’t have presented itself in any finer form. Leaves sprouted green and juicy from dormant branches. Daffodils shot from the ground. Purple lilacs hung in heavy masses, scenting the air with sweet perfume. Alanna and he tested the mettle of every horse in the barn. Rain pelted their faces as they raced one another across meadows and rolling hills. Each day their friendship grew, each night he found renewal by holding Alanna in his arms.

But on the fourth day of April, Thompson arrived and delivered a letter to Wolf from Trevor.

“What the hell are they doing in Scotland?”

“That’s what you need to go find out, son,” Thompson said. “We’ve learned everything we can from here.”

“It is time,” Old Chinese put in. “There will be instructions for you when you reach Trevor.”

Alanna was silent, her eyes filled with tears.

“What of Alanna?” Wolf pulled her to him. A rush of misery at the thought of leaving her welled up from his toes and settled around his heart like cold lead.

“Take me along.”

“You know damn well I can’t.”

Tears spilled over. “Please,” she whispered.

His heart clenched. “I need to settle this once and for all, Alanna. Don’t worry—I’ll be back. There’s no way in hell I’d ever let you return to your family.”

“Wolf is right,” Old Chinese responded. “He must go alone and put an end to all of this. And then he will come for you.” He turned to Wolf. “No one will bother with her since her mother ordered her to remain here until the June wedding. I’ll see to her well-being.”