Changeless

whether he changed me or not. You merely married into the role.”

“And in that you have the advantage over me. But then again, instead of adapting, I am simply retraining my pack to accept my ways.”

A half-smile appeared on Sidheag’s dour face. “I wager Major Channing is cracked over your presence.”

Alexia laughed.

Just when Lady Maccon felt like she might be gaining ground with Lady Kingair, an enormous crash reverberated against the wall nearest the dining chamber.

The ladies all exchanged startled looks. Madame Lefoux and Lady Maccon immediately leaped to their feet and went swiftly back toward the supper room. Lady Kingair was but a few steps behind, and all three burst through to find Lord Maccon and the Kingair Beta, Dubh, grappling fiercely on top of the massive table, rolling about among the remnants of what once had been a most excellent brandy and plate of sticky meringues. The other members of the pack, the Kingair clavigers in residence, and Tunstell had arranged themselves well out of the way and seemed to be viewing the fisticuffs in the manner of sportsmen at the races.

Tunstell was running a commentary. “Oh, nice uppercut from Lord Maccon there, and, oh, did Dubh kick? Bad form, terribly bad form.”

Alexia paused, regarding the two large Scotsman rolling about among the sticky powder of crushed meringue.

“Lachlan, report!” barked Lady Kingair over the racket. “What’s going on?”

The Gamma, who Alexia had thought of as rather sympathetic up until that point, shrugged. “It needs getting out right to the open, mistress. You know how we like to settle things.”

The woman shook her head, gray-streaked plait flying back and forth. “We settle things by teeth and claw, na fist and flesh. This isna our way. This isna pack protocol!”

Lachlan shrugged again. “Having na teeth possible, this be the next best option. You canna stop it, mistress, challenge was issued. We all witnessed the wording of it.”

The other pack members nodded gravely.

Dubh landed a good right punch to Lord Maccon’s chin, sending him flying backward.

Lady Kingair stepped hastily to one side to avoid a silver platter as it skidded off the table toward her.

“Oh my goodness!” came Ivy’s voice from the doorway. “I do believe they are actually skirmishing!”

Tunstell immediately sprang into action. “This is not a thing a lady should witness, Miss Hisselpenny,” he exclaimed, rushing over and shepherding her out of the room.

“But…” came Ivy’s voice.

Lady Maccon smiled proudly at the fact that the redhead hadn’t considered her sensibilities. Madame Lefoux, noting that Felicity still stood watching with wide, interested eyes, gave Alexia a look and left the room, shutting the door behind her and sweeping Felicity in her wake.

Lord Maccon slammed into Dubh’s stomach with his head, propelling the werewolf backward into the wall. The whole room shook at the impact.

Now, thought Alexia maliciously, Kingair will have to remodel.

“At least take the disagreement outside!” yelled Lady Kingair.

There was blood everywhere, as well as spilled brandy, broken glass, and crushed meringues.

“For goodness’ sake,” said Lady Maccon, exasperated, “don’t they realize that as humans, they could seriously injure one another if they carry on like this? They do not have the supernatural strength to take those kinds of blows, nor the supernatural healing to recover from them.”

Both men rolled to the side and fell off the tabletop with a loud thud.

Good Lord, thought Lady Maccon, noting that a good deal of the blood seemed to be emerging from her husband’s nose, I do hope Conall has brought a spare cravat.

She was not particularly worried, for she had little doubt in her husband’s pugilistic skills. He boxed regularly at Whites, and he was her chosen mate. Of course, he would win the fight, but still, the disarray being generated was unacceptable. Things could not be allowed to continue much longer. Imagine, the poor Kingair staff, having to clean up such a mess.

With that thought, Lady Maccon whirled about and went purposefully to fetch her parasol.

She need not have bothered. By the time she returned, numbing darts loaded and parasol ready to fire, both men were slumped in opposite corners of the room. Dubh was clutching his head and coughing in sharp painful little gasps, and Lord Maccon was listing to one side, blood dribbling out of his nose and one eye nearly swollen shut.

“Well don’t you two look a picture,” Alexia said, resting her parasol against the wall and crouching down to examine Conall’s face with gentle fingers. “Nothing a spot of vinegar won’t put to rights.” She turned to one of the clavigers. “Run and get me some cider vinegar, my good man.” Lord Maccon looked at her over the top of his cravat, which he was now holding to his nose. Ah well, the cravat was ruined already.

“Didna ken you cared, wife,” he grumbled, but leaned in against her gentle ministrations nevertheless.

So as not to seem too sympathetic, Alexia began vigorously brushing off the meringue crumbs covering his jacket.

At the same time, she looked over at the Kingair Beta and said, “Settle the issue to your mutual satisfaction, did you, gentlemen?”

Dubh gave her a deadpan expression that still managed to indicate a certain profound level of deep disgust in her very existence, let alone her question. Alexia only shook her head at such petulance.

The Kingair claviger returned bearing a flask of cider vinegar. Lady Maccon immediately began to copiously douse her husband about the face and neck with it.

“Ouch! Steady on, that stings!”

Dubh made to rise.

Lord Maccon instantly struggled to his feet. He would have to, Alexia surmised, to maintain dominance. Or it could be that he was trying to get away from her vinegar-riddled attentions.

“I know it stings,” she said. “Not nice to have to heal the old-fashioned way, now, is it, my brave table warrior? Perhaps you will pause to consider next time before you commence fighting in a confined space. I mean really, look at this room.” She tutted. “You both should be thoroughly ashamed of yourselves.”

“Nothing has been settled,” Dubh said, returning hastily to his slumped position on the carpeted floor. He appeared to have gotten the worse end of things. One of his arms looked broken, and there was a nasty gash in his left cheek.

However, Lady Maccon’s brisk application of vinegar seemed to have shattered everyone else’s collective inertia, for they began bustling around the fallen Beta, splinting up his arm and tending to his wounds.

“You still abandoned us.” Dubh sounded like a petulant child.

“You all know exactly why I left,” Lord Maccon growled.

“Uh,” said Alexia timidly, raising a questioning hand, “I do not.”

Everyone ignored her.

“You couldna control the pack,” Dubh accused.

Everyone present in the room gasped. Except Alexia, who did not comprehend the gravity of the insult and was occupied trying to pick the last of the meringue off her husband’s dinner jacket.

“That isna fair,” said Lachlan, not moving from his stance. Unsure of his allegiance, the Gamma simply stayed away from both Conall and Dubh.

“You betrayed me.” Lord Maccon did not yell, but the words carried and, even though he could not change to wolf form, there was wolf anger in them.

“And you pay us back in kind? The emptiness you left, was that fair?”

“There is naught fair about pack protocol. You and I both know that; there is simply protocol. And there was none to cover what you did. It was entirely unprecedented. So I was cursed with the dubious pleasure of having to make it up myself. Abandonment seemed to be the best solution, since I didna want to spend another night in your presence.”

Alexia looked over at Lachlan. The Gamma had tears in his eyes.

“Besides”—Lord Maccon’s voice softened—“Niall was a perfectly good Alpha alternative. He led you well, I hear. He married my progeny. You were tame enough for decades under his dominance.”