Page 53 of Mated to the Mad Marquess

“That’s right,” Margot said. “We go until our hearts give out at a real party.”

“A proper orgy.” Susan nodded her agreement. She tested her ankle, rolling her foot in the short boot. “None of those silly pleasure parties put on by young human lords, where the attendees separate into nervous pairs and hide in corners like green boys and girls.”

“Nothing less than true drunken debauchery,” Margot agreed. “So, no more tripping down the stairs, you,” she scolded.

Malcolm guffawed. Hrafn smiled with her eyes. Before long, they were watching the shadow show together, shadow babies gathered at their feet until the sun brightened the room and they all fell asleep, lulled by the warm light streaming in through the glass.

Another shout in the corridor disturbed them from their slumber. Malcolm jogged out of the guest room as Hrafn and Margot contained the startled shadow babies. A footman called for him on the landing.

“A rider at the gate, my lord,” he said, eyes downcast when he saw Malcolm’s disgruntled demeanor. “Mr. Harrow is asking for you. Says it’s urgent.”

Malcolm hurried down the corridor and the steep stairs. It had to be urgent if Harrow would risk traveling around monster-infested woods to speak with him. He knew the land well, but taking risks wasn’t the sort of thing Harrow did often.

“Let him in,” Malcolm called as he reached the courtyard, and the heavy gates parted with a clamor.

Harrow walked his gelding inside and waved off the groom that offered to take his mount. “I won’t be here long,” he shouted over the clatter of the gates as they shut at his back.

“More animal attacks?” Malcolm asked, stating aloud what worried his mind most.

“Nothing like that, my lord,” Harrow said. “It’s Miss Lindiwe Zuma.”

“Is she hurt?” Malcolm frowned.

“No, my lord, but she’s up to mischief.” Harrow pulled a folded bit of parchment from the satchel on his saddle, and he handed it to the marquess. “I intercepted that.”

Malcolm unfolded it and read. The letter, addressed to him and the King of Night, was unfinished.

We the people of Reedlet, as signed below, demand the immediate release of Hrafn of the Vanir. Her arrest after her heroic deeds the day the birds attacked is an egregious act of injustice that must be made right at once. We, the undersigned, attest that we witnessed no wrongdoing by the accused during the day in question. She acted most valiantly.

The rest of the letter had been rubbed out, the ink blurred. There were at least twenty signatures alongside Miss Lindiwe Zuma’s, many of them smudged. Malcolm chuckled warmly at the show of support for his mate.

“My lord,” Harrow said curtly, “Miss Zuma is creating unrest.”

“By demanding that a wrong be righted?” Malcolm snapped. “She’s well within her rights to ask for support and pen letters.”

“At every market Miss Zuma causes a disturbance. She’s harassing the other villagers, waving her petition in their faces, demanding that they see the events her way, instead of—”

“Instead ofyourway?” Malcolm rolled up the petition for safekeeping, and he narrowed his eyes at his land steward, taking him in and not liking what he saw. “I’ve told you about the monster, the phantom nesting in the forest. I’ve stated plainly that Hrafn is innocent of the accusation you brought upon her. You were wrong, Harrow. Time to stiffen that upper lip of yours and move on.”

“My lord, all due respect, but you weren’t there. You haven’t seen what Lindiwe is up to, spreading her lies, ignoring others when she’s told to be silent on the matter.” He shook his head in disbelief. “You can’t mean to take the word of this . . . this . . .”

“Woman,” Malcolm said, helping him along. “I’ll never understand a mortal man’s difficulty when it comes to women who stand up for themselves. Why is your word more valuable to me than hers?”

Harrow’s nostrils flared. “I just want what’s best for Reedlet.”

“You want what’s best for yourself,” Malcolm said, his blood warming in his veins. Harrow’s mouth opened to protest, but he wisely snapped it shut again.

When the matter with the monster was dealt with, Malcolm would see to it that Harrow was removed as one of his stewards. The man continued to point his finger when the real person responsible was a wicked phantom and his own foolish self. He’d been the one to disturb those tombstones, defacing the runes. Magic or not, he carried far more blame than he was willing to admit.

“Go home,” Malcolm growled. “Leave Miss Zuma be. All you need to be doing right now is making sure everyone stays far away from that forest until I deal with the monster. Anything else is inconsequential.”

Harrow shuffled his feet and muttered under his breath a vague agreement. “For how long?”

“Soon.” Malcolm closed the distance between them, squaring his shoulders with the man. Solis grew behind him, casting him in formidable shadow. “Can you handle this, Harrow?”

Harrow hesitated a moment, defiance in his pursed lips. Then he nodded. “I can handle it, my lord. ’Course I can.”

The steward yanked on his horse’s reins, turning the mount. The gates parted loudly for him.

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