“Good morning, my dear.”
Wynne looked up, set his book aside and began to rise from his chair. “Good morning, sir. Are you hungry?”
“A little. Mostly, I’m craving tea.”
Wynne smiled. “I’ll make fresh pot, sir.”
Sitting himself down at the table. Lindsay watched Wynne move around the kitchen. He filled the kettle and laid out place settings then disappeared into the larder, emerging with a loaf of bread, an earthenware jar and half a wrapped cheese. After slicing several large hunks of bread and buttering them generously, he put them on a plate with a sizeable wedge of the cheese and set it all down in front of Lindsay.
Lindsay smiled gratefully. “You’re a treasure,” he said. The jar contained honey and Lindsay poured a thick stream of it over his bread till it was quite drenched, before taking a big bite, moaning happily around the food. It turned out he was hungrier than he’d realised. Thirsty too. He drank all the tea in the pot, cup after cup of it.
Once he’d eaten and drunk his fill, and leaned back contentedly in his chair, Wynne spoke again his tone tentative, “May I ask something, sir?”
“Of course.”
“You ran as a wolf last night.”
“I did,” Lindsay confirmed. “But that is not a question—what do you want to know?”
Wynne’s gaze was wary. “It’s not full moon yet.”
Lindsay stared at him. “Again, not a question.”
Wynne’s scent spiked, but to his credit he continued. “I remember,” he said, fiddling with his teacup, “you once telling me that it does not do to shift too often in cities. Yet, since we’ve come you’ve already done so three times. Do you think—”
“Do I think I am being unwise?” Lindsay interrupted.
Wynne flushed scarlet. “I did not mean to suggest that.”
“No?” Lindsay sighed and dropped his head back, staring up at the ceiling. It was stained yellow-brown from decades of cooking grease. “The truth is, last night I needed to run. I could not have done otherwise. The moon had nothing to do with it.”
When he glanced back at Wynne, the man looked concerned, as well he might. Lindsay rarely shifted other than at full moon and never so often as this. But the fact was, the circumstances were unusual. He’d had to dose himself with ’bane to avoid shifting when the moon was full during his journey to Edinburgh—that had left him with a fairly desperate need to shift. And the next two times had both been prompted by his wolf’s reaction to Drew Nicol.
Lindsay opened his mouth to reassure Wynne but before he could utter a word, there was a loud rapping at the door downstairs.
“Who’s that?” Lindsay asked. “Are we expecting anyone?”
Wynne frowned and shook his head. “I’ll go and see.”
He returned a few minutes later with a guest in tow, a guest whose dear scent had already reached Lindsay’s nose before he’d even entered the kitchen. Lindsay was out of his chair and waiting to greet the man the moment he crossed the threshold.
“Francis!” he exclaimed happily, yanking his friend into his arms and pressing him close, relishing Francis’s eager return embrace, his wiry arms firm around Lindsay’s back.
“Lindsay,” Francis breathed into his ear. “Ah, it’s good to see you.”
“And you.” Lindsay inhaled deeply, letting Francis’s scent fill him. Clean wool with the faintest hint of lanolin. A shepherd scent. A wolf in lamb’s clothing scent.
Francis laughed, his chuckle muffled by Lindsay’s shoulder. “What a welcome,” he said, pulling back to set a little space between them, so he could look at Lindsay. His expression was fond and happy, his light-brown eyes gleaming with that deep kindness Lindsay loved so well. When he lifted his hand and set it on Lindsay’s cheek, Lindsay stilled obediently, letting Francis look his fill.
“You seem...” Francis trailed off, frowning slightly, then said, “Is everything all right?”
“Of course,” Lindsay replied.
“How go things with Cruikshank?”
“Sit down and I’ll tell you.” Lindsay smiled coaxingly at Wynne. “Could we possibly have some more tea?”
Wynne nodded, then glanced at Francis. “And something to eat for you, Mr. Neville?”
