Page 36 of Mated to the Mad Marquess

Even as he wrote his letters, his mind drifted to the warrior witch. In the pit of his gut, he knew he would soon lose her. Further down, in his deepest depths, he knew he deserved that, so he threw himself into training next, distracting his thoughts from the inevitable goodbye that would crush him. He prepped his body to take on the phantom using powers that desperately needed tuning.

Solis guarded Hrafn’s bed at night—or he was supposed to—but that failed to stop her from escaping each day, forcing Malcolm to wait until she’d settled in for the night before adding locks and reinforcements to her door. None of his efforts kept her put, and he couldn’t figure out why.

Late that morning, as Malcolm slipped on his leather training gear, he scolded his soul for failing once more to confine their mate as they’d been ordered to. As it stood, she came and went as she pleased. She was supposed to be a prisoner.

There was nothing I could do this time, Solis insisted.

“Yes, there was,” Malcolm rumbled.

She kissed me, Solis said, helping him fasten the closures of his leather vest in place with nimble shadow fingers. They stood together inside the ruins of a sandstone tower, facing the courtyard and the copse of overgrown willow trees at its center.If you think she’s so easy to resist when she wants something, then I’d like to see you try.

Malcolm could only scowl in response.

A cry came out from the gatehouse, an alert from the guard manning it. “Carriage approaches, my lord!”

Solis flew up to inspect the situation himself.It’s Elspeth.

“Open the gate,” Malcolm shouted to the guard, then he jogged to the entrance to welcome his guest as the heavy gates pulled openly slowly.

Lady Elspeth trotted in on her spotted gelding, yards ahead of a lumbering coach pulled by two heavy mounts. The lady was Dagrun’s daughter—the baron from next door—and nocturnal, which made her timing there especially odd. Elspeth wore a hunting costume made of light wool. Despite her workaday outfit she still carried an air of nobility in her willowy frame and elegantly long nose. A Lunar fae, her skin was dark gray and her hair a shiny shade of midnight blue.

“Hello, old man,” she greeted warmly.

Malcolm helped her down from her saddle, then pulled the young woman into a friendly hug. She grunted like the embrace pained her. From the satchel at her saddle, she removed a rolled kit swaddled in thin leather.

“I hope you still know how to do a decent field stitch,” she said, shoving the kit into his chest.

And only then did he notice the tears in her tunic, the cut in her riding gloves. He turned her slowly to inspect the shoulder she appeared to be favoring, revealing a nasty gash that had sliced through the wool and her skin. The wound was fresh and bleeding freely.

“An animal,” Malcolm guessed. “A large one.”

“A mad wolf. I’ve been hunting them with father and the Seelie mages he recruited to protect the villagers,” Elspeth said. Working with Seelie explained why she was awake during the day. “Good thing I was out. I happened upon this runaway carriage that was headed here, looking for you. The wolves nearly made a meal of the horses. One of the drivers was thrown. He had to be taken to hospital. Father has him.”

“Headed my way?” Malcolm turned to watch the carriage rounding the courtyard before coming to a stop. The gates pulled together slowly with a loud clatter of gears and metal on wood.

Before Elspeth could answer his question, the carriage door popped open, and a golden-haired mortal woman climbed out.

“This is the last time I make a house call,” Susan Boots said loudly, her voice carrying across the lawn. She was the madam of the finest brothel house in River Row. Malcolm enjoyed an easy friendship with her.

“Sacred stars,” Malcolm cursed quietly. “I forgot we had plans. So much has happened in the last week.”

“I advise you not to let them hear you say that,” Elspeth whispered.

“Fuck me,” Malcolm grunted, rubbing a hand across his grizzled jaw.

“Those words you can probably let them overhear. They’re used to them, I imagine.” Elspeth grinned.

The curve of her smile inspired his own. “Go have a seat in the gatehouse,” he told her, “and I’ll sew you up. Just give me a minute to set my guests to rights.”

“You can’t send them back the way they came,” Elspeth warned. “Those woods and the roads near them are teaming with oddities. We got your letter—and a frog from the fairy child who delivered it. And we heard about what happened at Reedlet. It’s just like that in the thick of the woods now: darkness and madness. We lost a few farmhands in there, we think. Men are missing from their homes. The only upside is our actions in bringing down the wolves has reminded the farmers why they have a lord. It’s brought an end to the talks of revolt.”

“I think I may have found your farmhands here. They scaled my walls full of a violent glamour. Regrettably, they won’t be coming back home. Go sit down, and try not to bleed out,” he added sarcastically. The wound wasn’t so dire as all that. “I’ll be right there.”

Field kit tucked under his arm, Malcolm took his time crossing the courtyard. He needed a moment to think up all the best words to fix what he’d bungled. He reached Susan and her business partner, who was still rummaging around in the cabin. Both women were dressed in traveling clothes, but the large trunk strapped to the hood of the vehicle was no doubt overflowing with luxury. The lovely ladies did quite well for themselves.

Most of their success could be credited to their business savvy, but some of it was thanks in part to Malcolm. He’d been introduced to them by the Queen of Night herself. Now, Susan and her partner Margot came to parties to help add life to the revelry in exchange for being introduced to Malcolm’s most affluent and lonely guests.

A regular house party he’d completely forgotten to cancel.

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