Wolf in the Fold

  Jamie's aunt, Katrina Dorimant, was a roguishly attractive woman in her mid-forties, with a broad grin and flashing eyes. She wore a long, wine-red gown, and enough jewelry to finance a minor war or two. She was average height, with a tight, compact body and a brisk, captivating manner. She smiled widely at Hawk as he kissed her hand, and her eyes lingered on him for a long moment before she turned to embrace Fisher. Once again the embrace was over almost as soon as it had begun, and the two women exchanged a cool, appraising look before dismissing each other with averted eyes. Hawk hid a smile. Fisher had better keep her guard up. Katrina looked like a scrapper.

  "Welcome to Tower MacNeil!" said Katrina brightly. "I'm so glad you're here. We need some new blood to stir things up. The place has been awfully gloomy just lately, though I can't think why. Dear Duncan never approved of sour faces when he was alive, and he certainly wouldn't have expected us to wander around sobbing and beating our breasts just because he's dead."

  "You never did believe in tears or regrets, did you, Aunt?" said Holly flatly.

  "Certainly not. They make your eyes puffy and give you wrinkles."

  "Are you here for the reading of the will?" asked Fisher politely.

  "Actually, no, my dear. I'm currently separated from my husband, bad cess to the man, and dear Jamie has been kind enough to allow me to stay here until the divorce is finalized."

  "I had in mind a few weeks, Auntie," said Jamie good-naturedly. "In actual fact, you've been here five months now."

  "Don't exaggerate, dear. It's four and a bit."

  "Are we the only guests?" said Hawk. "I can't believe we're the only Family come to pay our respects to the MacNeil."

  "There are other guests," said Jamie. "They're upstairs in their rooms at present, but they'll be joining us for a late breakfast soon. We keep very relaxed hours here, especially since the servants left. But it must be said there aren't nearly as many Family here as one might have wished for."

  "Why not?" asked Fisher bluntly.

  The three MacNeils exchanged a quick glance. "I take it you've never heard of the MacNeil Curse," said Jamie slowly. "Not really surprising, I suppose, buried as you are in the depths of Lower Markham. It's not something we're proud of, and we don't care to discuss it with outsiders. But since you are both Family, and you've come all this way to be here… The Curse is the reason why so few have come to pay their respects, even with the reading of the will to tempt them. It's why the servants ran away, and why the Quality no longer accept invitations to Tower MacNeil. Please, be seated, all of you, and I'll tell you of the secret Shame of the MacNeils, and how it has come back to haunt us. I think it's time for the truth."

  Everyone found themselves chairs, and drew them up in a semicircle facing the fireplace. Jamie stayed where he was, with his back to the fire, standing almost to attention, with his hands clasped behind his back, so the others wouldn't see them shaking. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and even and very controlled.

  "Most people have heard something about the Curse of the MacNeils. That there is a monster which haunts us, and has done for generations. There have been many songs about it, and even one or two plays. Romantic fictions, all of them. We don't object; they help conceal the reality behind the myth. There is a Secret in our Family, handed down from father to eldest son alone, from generation to generation.

  "Long ago, in the days before proper records were kept, a child was born to the MacNeils, to the head of the Family at that time. That child was the eldest son, destined to continue the Family bloodline. Unfortunately, he was also horribly deformed. He should have been killed at birth, but the MacNeil was a kind and tender-hearted man. The creature was, after all, his son. Perhaps a cure could be found. The MacNeil all but bankrupted the Family trying to find it, paying for doctors and sorcerers and healers of all kinds, but no cure was ever found.

  "The creature became increasingly violent, and eventually had to be put away, for everyone's safety. The MacNeil took full responsibility for his awful son, and none of the Family or servants ever saw it again. Finally, some years later, the creature died, and everyone heaved a sigh of relief. The normal second son became the eldest son, the bloodline continued through him, and everything returned to normal.

  "That is not the Secret. The songs and the romances and the plays are based loosely on what I have just told you, and from those distorted stories come the vague rumors that most people mean when they refer to the Curse of the MacNeils. The Secret, handed down from father to eldest son, is very simple. The creature did not die.

  "The MacNeil had finally despaired of his monstrous son, and decided it should die, to free the Family of its burden. He gave the creature poison to drink, and walled up its room. He and the second son did the job themselves, rather than risk bringing in workmen or servants who might have talked. And all the time they labored with bricks and mortar, they could hear the creature pacing restlessly back and forth in its cell. The poison did not kill it. Time and again the MacNeil and his son returned to listen at the wall they'd built, but though the creature had no access to food or water, still it lived. They could hear it moving about in its cell, and sometimes scratching at the walls.

  "Years passed. The MacNeil died, and later so did his son, but the creature lived on. No one ever knew of its existence save the head of the Family and the eldest son, the Secret passing from generation to generation to generation when the son reached his majority. And so it went, down all the many years.

  "Only this time, something went wrong. My father passed on the Secret to his eldest son, my brother William. But William died just three weeks ago, in a riding accident, and then my father was killed in a border clash, before he could pass on the details of the Secret to me. I was able to piece together what I've just told you from studying his papers after his death, but that's as far as his notes go. Presumably there are other papers somewhere, prepared in case of an emergency, but I've been unable to find them,. No doubt Dad would have got around to telling me where they were, just in case… but who would ever have thought he'd die so suddenly…"

  Jamie stopped abruptly as his voice broke. Holly rose quickly from her seat and moved forward to hug her brother's arm protectively.

  "Is that why the servants left?" said Hawk. "Because the Secret got out?"

  Jamie shook his head. "Not long after Dad died, the servants began seeing things. A dark figure, padding through the corridors late at night, or in the early hours of the morning. It always disappeared when challenged. I had the Tower searched from top to bottom by my security people, but they never found anyone. Then, things started to be broken. Vases, glasses, crockery. A chair was found smashed to pieces. Noises were heard at night; something that might have been screams, or laughter. My people began to leave, despite all I could offer them in the way of money or reassurances.

  "Even my security people wouldn't stay. They all thought it was the ghost of my father, come back to haunt the Tower. Only I knew better. After all these years, the creature had finally got out. Obviously some part of the Secret dealt with how to keep it confined, and since I didn't know what to do… So far, it hasn't been able to leave Tower MacNeil; the Tower's protective wards see to that."

  "Why haven't you called in the city Guard?" asked Fisher. "Maybe their experts could find the creature…"

  "No!" said Jamie sharply. "This is Family business, and it has to stay within the Family. If the Secret ever gets out, the whole world will know the MacNeil Family is based on a lie. That all of us are descended from a second son. The Quality would declare that we had betrayed our bloodline and inheritance, and the MacNeils would be disgraced. Already there are rumors. That's why so few Family have come to declare their fealty to me."

  "Apart from us, who else knows the Secret?" said Hawk.

  "Just Greaves, my immediate Family, and my other guests, so far."

  "This… creature," said Fisher slowly. "Has it tried to hurt anyone?"

  "Not so far," said Jamie. "But
it is getting more destructive. Why? Do you want to leave?"

  Hawk smiled slightly. "I don't think so. Isobel and I don't scare easily."

  Katrina stirred in her chair. "I can't believe Duncan kept the Secret so long. I had no idea… You're quite right, of course, Jamie. The Secret must never get out. We would be ostracized in High Society. Now then, the creature undoubtedly hides by day in the room that used to be its cell. Are you still unable to locate it?"

  "I'm afraid so." Jamie's brow furrowed, and he ran a hand through his hair. "The Tower is riddled with secret passages and sliding panels. I know some of them, and Dad's papers revealed a few more, but I still haven't been able to find where the creature is hiding. Presumably the room's location was part of the Secret."

  "This is crazy," said Fisher. "If this creature was walled up for centuries, what kept it alive? Everything feeds on something…"

  "I don't know," said Jamie. "But whatever the creature is, it's definitely not human. Maybe it hasn't died because it can't…"

  For a long moment, nobody said anything. The crackling of the fire seemed very loud in the quiet.

  "All this started because your father died unexpectedly," said Hawk finally. "Just how did he die?"

  Katrina looked at him sharply. "You don't know?"

  "Word often gets garbled when it has to travel long distances," said Fisher smoothly. "We want to make sure we've got it right."

  "I was just wondering," said Hawk carefully, "if perhaps there had been something unusual about your father's death… something that might give us a clue as to how the creature got out of its cell, after centuries of confinement. I mean, its room was supposed to have been bricked up. So, how did it finally get out?"

  "I see." Jamie nodded respectfully. "I hadn't thought of that. But no, there was nothing suspicious about my father's death. He was killed in a skirmish with Outremer troops up in the Northern borderlands. He shouldn't really have been there, an officer of his rank. But there had been rumors of new troop movements, and he wanted to see for himself. Dad was like that. Never really trusted anyone's opinion but his own. Anyway, he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and he and his whole column were wiped out. Just another borderland skirmish. There's been a number of them just recently. Men are dying up there every day, just because our King and the Outremer Monarch can't agree on exactly where the bloody border is. Good men dying for a line on a map… I'm sorry. But it's hard not to be bitter sometimes. Dad was a good soldier. He deserved a better end than this. But I don't see how it could have had anything to do with the creature's escape."

  "Did anything unusual happen here at the Tower, before the servants started seeing and hearing things?" said Fisher…

  Jamie thought for a moment. "I don't think so. I remember we were a bit short-staffed for a while about then. A lot of the servants had been going down with colds, but you expect that at this time of the year. A day off, and they were back at work again."

  "There's really nothing to worry about," said Katrina firmly. "You'll be quite safe here, I assure you. There's no indication the creature's ever tried to hurt anyone. That is right, isn't it, Jamie?"

  "Yes, it is. But I felt it only fair you should all know what the situation is. You see, before the will can be read, the Tower has to be isolated behind protective wards for twenty-four hours. That's traditional."

  "You mean, once the wards are up, no one can leave the Tower for a full day?" said Hawk. "No matter what happens here?"

  He and Fisher exchanged a quick glance.

  "That's right," said Jamie. "But trust me, nothing's going to happen. If the creature had meant any harm, it would have acted by now. AH those years of imprisonment must have knocked the fight out of it."

  "I'm sure you're right," said Fisher. "But you couldn't have known that, at the beginning. In fact, it must have been pretty scary, especially when the servants started leaving, rather than face whatever it was. So why did you stay? Wouldn't it have been safer to evacuate the Tower?"

  "This is my home," said Jamie. "Home to my Family for generations. I won't be driven out of it."

  There was an uncomfortable pause.

  "Well," said Katrina brightly, "if all else fails, we can always call on the Guardian!"

  "Who?" said Hawk.

  There was another, longer pause as the MacNeils looked at him strangely. Hawk silently cursed. He knew he should have insisted on a full briefing. Nothing was more likely to trip him and Fisher up than not recognizing some Family in-joke or reference, and this was clearly one of them. Still, the harm was done now. All he could do was try and face it down. He stared innocently back at Jamie and Katrina. and noticed for the first time that Holly wasn't paying any attention to the conversation. Instead, her eyes were far away, as though she were lost in some world of her own. Then Katrina started speaking, and Hawk quickly switched his attention back to her.

  "You must have heard of the MacNeil Guardian," said Katrina, speaking slowly and carefully, as though to a rather backward small child. "Perhaps you know him by a different name. The Guardian is one of our more pleasant and comforting Family legends. One of our more remote ancestors is supposed to haunt the Tower, duty bound to protect his descendants from harm. Apparently it's a penance for some bloody crime he later came to regret but was unable to put right while he lived. The legend doesn't say exactly what his crime might have been."

  "That's often the way with legends," said Hawk. "You're right, of course. I recognize it now. Has anyone seen this ghost in recent times?"

  "No one's seen him for centuries," said Jamie. "Though there have been any number of times when the Family could have used his help. So I'm afraid it is just a legend, after all."

  "I believe in him," said Holly suddenly. "I pray every night he'll come to save me. But he never does."

  Everyone looked at her strangely for a moment. For the first time, there had been real passion in her voice, and something that might have been despair. Jamie looked at her worriedly, but said nothing, and Holly quickly subsided into silence again. Katrina cleared her throat loudly.

  "That's supposed to be a portrait of the Guardian," she said brightly, indicating a dark and gloomy portrait directly over the fireplace. "Painted not long before his death. It's certainly old enough, so who knows?"

  They all looked at the portrait. The pigments had darkened gradually over the years, but the image was still clear. The portrait showed a grim, unsmiling middle-aged man, posed uncomfortably in a large upholstered chair. He was dressed in battered leather amour, and his face was lined and weathered. He looked as though he would have been more at home riding a horse into combat than sitting for an official Family portrait. There was an air of strength and wildness about him, and his great mane of white hair and sharp, beaked nose reminded Hawk uncannily of a bird of prey, trained to duty but never tamed. Hawk had no trouble at all seeing him as a man who would do bloody crimes in the heat of passion.

  Everyone jumped slightly as the door behind them swung suddenly open and the butler Greaves entered. He stepped to one side, and formally announced the arrival of Marc and Alistair MacNeil. The two men entered together, though with enough space between them to suggest they were neither comfortable nor happy in each other's company. They both bowed briefly to Jamie MacNeil.

  Marc was tall and slender, with a broad, bland face and a cool, unhappy smile. He looked to be in his late twenties, if you ignored his prematurely thinning hair, and he wore the latest fashion poorly, as though indifferent to the effect it was supposed to achieve. He looked like the kind of man who attaches himself to groups at parties, in the hope someone will talk to him. His handshake was harsh and perfunctory, and his lips lingered almost obnoxiously over Fisher's hand. Jamie introduced him as another distant cousin, from Upper Markham.

  "That makes him almost a neighbor of yours," said Jamie, smiling happily at Hawk and Fisher. "I'm sure you'll have lots in common to talk about."

  "Oh good," said Hawk.

  Marc
sniffed. "I rather doubt it. No one worth knowing ever came out of Lower Markham."

  There was an icy silence. Hawk's hand fell to his belt, before remembering he didn't have his axe anymore. Fisher quickly dropped a restraining hand on his arm. Marc smiled stiffly, almost as though daring Hawk to take offense at such an obvious truth.

  "That's enough!" said Jamie sharply. "There will be no duels in the Tower while I'm the MacNeil. Now apologize, Marc."

  "Of course," said Marc. "I'm sorry."

  His tone made the apology sound like another insult, Hawk's scowl deepened. Fisher tightened her grip on his arm. Hawk bowed stiffly, and turned his back on Marc to greet Alistair MacNeil. Marc sniffed again, and turned away to help himself to a drink from one of the wine decanters set out on the sideboard. Fisher breathed a silent sigh of relief, let go of Hawk's arm, and took a long drink from her glass.

  Alistair shook Hawk's hand firmly, and kissed Fisher's hand with old-fashioned style. He smiled at them both, an open, friendly smile that did much to dispel the cool atmosphere left by Marc's comments. "Good of you to make such a long journey; it can't have been easy, getting here from Lower Markham at this time of year."

  "We felt we ought to be here," said Fisher. "Did you have far to come?"

  "Quite a way. I'm another of those cousins the Family doesn't like to admit to knowing. I was brought up here in the Tower, but the Family packed me off to the Red Marches when I was a young man. Got a parlor maid into trouble and couldn't pay my gambling debts. Nothing too outrageous, but someone thought I needed to be made an example of, so off I went. Can't say I regret it. I could have come back long ago, but never saw the point. Lovely area, the Red Marches. Marvelous scenery, good hunting, and always a chance for some action on the borders. That's how I heard about Duncan's death. Beastly bad luck, by all accounts. So, I decided it was time to come back and pay my respects to the new MacNeil. Good of you to put me up, Jamie. I couldn't stick Haven. Place has gone to the dogs. Not at all how I remember it."