She was not shocked when the earl of Greybum turned into a wolf, though she’d almost forgotten the wonder and terror of that transformation. Edith had been her friend; Braden Forster was dangerously unpredictable, but both were of the same kind. Like Cassidy, who seemed as lost in that great ceremonial hall as she did in her gaudy robe.
But Isabelle watched with growing dread as the great gray wolf seized the hands of the two servants, one by one, in his jaws. Even when Braden released them, unharmed, Isabelle felt a sickness in the pit of her stomach that had nothing to do with ordinary fear.
This was what Matthias the shepherd meant when he’d warned her of the initiation. And Cassidy, so naive in the ways of her mother’s people, so innocent of all arrogance and the lust to rule, was forced to participate.
“I ken it troubles ye, milady,” a soft voice said at her elbow, “but there’s no helpin’ it. ‘Tis what they are.”
“Matthias!” she said, pressing to the wall. “What are you doing here?”
He was dressed as he’d been earlier that evening, ready for action, the sword at his side. For a man who was trespassing, as she was, he looked fairly unconcerned, though his stance was watchful.
“I told ye little enough on the fell, milady,” he said. “I came to learn how ye fared this eve, but I see I was right. Ye were spared.”
She shivered. Spared what—that bizarre ritual in the Great Hall? And if she had been subjected to it, would Matthias have come to her rescue? The very idea was absurd. She turned back to the door.
“Cassidy—Miss Holt—is in there,” she said. “Aye. Ye said she’s a Forster.”
Yes, God help her. But she was also Edith’s daughter. “You told me that no one who knows the Greyburn secret would reveal it,” she said. “Is this how they guarantee loyally? Through terror, and threats of—” She couldn’t complete the thought, imagining those brutal jaws at someone’s throat.
“No threat,” Matthias said, moving nearer. ” ‘Tis but a symbol. There is more—”
“Wait. Something’s happening.” She was aware of Matthias close against her at the door and felt unaccountably comforted.
The comfort was short-lived. As she watched, Braden glanced toward the waiting Forsters, and Quentin stepped behind the decorative screen in the center of the Hall. The earl’s valet moved up to take Quentin’s robe as he tossed it out. A moment later another wolf emerged: a beast with russet fur the color of Quentin’s hair. He joined his elder brother and repeated the hand-grasping ritual with the two servants, much more quickly than Braden had done.
” ‘Tis not simple fear,” Matthias said into Isabelle’s ear. ” ‘Tis the laird’s will. He can speak to their minds and compel obedience. In return, they lack for nought while they live.”
That nauseating sickness filled her stomach again, and she almost doubled over. Matthias caught her arm.
“He’ll not use it on ye,” he said. “That I vow.”
With an effort she straightened. “The tenants, the laborers—does this happen to them as well?”
“Some they trust without such sureties.”
“Like you?”
He smiled. “Aye. They trust me well enough.” He gestured toward the door. “Take heed.”
She did as he asked, just in time to observe Lady Rowena, moving like one in a dream, disappear behind the screen. Many minutes passed before she come out. When she did, it was as a beautiful wolf of pale golden color, smaller than the other two. She slunk along the ground, her ears flat, her tail low. No human voice could have announced reluctance, and unhappiness, more clearly.
She barely touched the hands of the servants, who by now seemed well beyond fright. When she was finished, all three wolves turned, as one, to Cassidy.
Isabelle knew what they expected. Cassidy’s robe had a specific purpose, like theirs. Such a garment was easily discarded for the Changing. Even from across the room, Isabelle could see the girl’s panic.
Cassidy had never been taught how to Change. She’d lost her mother too young and grown up among ordinary humans. There was nothing Isabelle could do to help her.