Isabel
The kitchen was warm and comfy as the women chatted and set about preparing the evening meal. Everyone looked as though they had a task to perform, except Isabel. Not that she would stoop to dirtying her hands. It was different for the others—they were all common-born and used to labouring. She took a seat, watched, and felt slightly bored.
Ianthe slid a knife across the table, then a bucket containing potatoes. Isabel glanced from one to the other and then looked up. The implication was clear, but so ludicrous she must be missing some joke. "Do you expect me to prepare a meal?"
Ianthe arched an eyebrow. "Good Lord, no. I assume you can't cook, but you can help by peeling potatoes."
Isabel drew a breath inward and then seemed incapable of exhaling. Peel potatoes? Of all the ignominious undignified tasks to ask of her! "Peel potatoes? Me? Surely you jest!"
Ianthe pointed to the small wooden-handled blade. "I thought you had some skill with a knife? Just take a thin layer off, we don't want to waste too much. You'll need to do the entire bucket. The men have quite large appetites. They seem to eat for both themselves and their wolves."
Isabel had reached her tolerance for absurdity today; she pushed back the stool and rose. She moved away from the bucket of potatoes as though it were a lit keg of gunpowder. "This is a kitchen maid's work, and I am the daughter of a duke."
The courtesan had the audacity to look bored as she pulled a bowl of peas toward her and started shelling. "Yes, you keep on saying that, but you seem to forget that you are now the wife of a common soldier who does not command a staff. You either learn how to peel a potato or go hungry."
The woman by the stove, Sarah, actually snorted at the comment. A servant dared laugh at her, where once that woman's sort wouldn't even have presumed to raise her eyes as she passed. Isabel tried to muster up a tart retort but for once her famed barbed tongue failed her.
"I will do no such thing." She fled from the kitchen and ran across the dirt courtyard to the stables. Horses snorted as she shot past to the end of the short aisle. A rickety ladder led up to the loft, where she threw herself into the fragrant hay. Tears sprang to her eyes. They expected her to work. Her!
Isabel buried her face in her arms and wailed. The thick layer of hay muffled her cries as she sobbed. How far she had tumbled and how unfair life was, that she was reduced to this, a pathetic creature hiding in a loft. When she exhausted her tears, she rolled over.
She lay back in the hay and stared at the roof. The planks didn't align perfectly and the odd sliver of light escaped through and washed the space a pale gold. Dust spun and danced above her head and she watched the motes drift to the tune of unheard music.
Her life was not going as she planned. But then what exactly had been her plan? She had hated her former life and how it constricted her. In that world, she lived as though trapped behind a mirror, and she spent years hammering on the glass looking for a way to break free. Every breath used to come tight and hot in her chest. Here, she could draw deep lungfuls of air. These people challenged her mind and expected her to pull her weight and contribute.
The night of the ball she had planned to steal a horse and gallop away, free. Only now, in this company, did she realise how woefully unprepared she was to look after herself, once deprived of the comforts of her noble life. Oh, she pretended that she would have this grand adventure facing pirates and charging elephants, but she wasn't even brave enough to peel a potato. How would she eat or provide for herself during the worldwide exploration she concocted in her mind?
More questions swirled in Isabel's brain, as she sorted through what she wanted from life and how she would achieve it. Ianthe's words from earlier in the day kept repeating in her head. The new beginning gave her an opportunity to forge a fresh identity. Who did she want to be? Would Alick let her be the woman who lurked beneath her surface, trying to break free? And more importantly, was she brave enough to find out?
Another deep breath. Nothing would change if she stayed sulking in the barn. If she wanted a new life then she had to take the first step toward it. Change was scary and different from everything she knew, but she would never know how her life might unfold, if she didn't try. She would take the first step on a new path, and that step was learning how to peel a potato.
She wiped her damp eyes on her skirt and headed back down the ladder. As she passed the horses in the stables she stroked their muzzles, a simple touch to borrow some of their strength for the task ahead.
The kitchen door stood open and she slipped back in and took a seat. The other women glanced up but no one spoke. Isabel picked up the knife and selected a potato from the bucket. Only then did she dare to meet the courtesan's gaze and whisper the words she never thought to utter: "Would you teach me, please?"
Full dark had fallen by the time the other men strode through the door. Hamish and Alick removed their jackets and hung them on pegs. Isabel glanced up with a nervous smile, as the men washed their hands in the bucket of water sitting on a small dresser by the door.
The flutter in her stomach was silly. All she had done was peel and slice potatoes, but it was the very first time she had contributed to a meal. These men were about to eat food her hands had helped prepare. She only hoped nobody fell ill.
Quinn poured out mugs of beer from a large pitcher and handed one to each man as they took their place at the table. "Any sign of them?"
Hamish dropped down next to Aster and placed a quick kiss on her lips. "We only found shadows."
That one word echoed in Isabel's mind. Shadows. Everything was hidden by shadows, nothing to be discovered until the light shines or the mist is pulled away. She found herself whispering without even realising she spoke. "Shadow men."
Ianthe whispered the same words at the exact same time. The two women echoed each other.
"Your vision?" Quinn asked the courtesan.
She placed one hand to her temple, as if something in her head pained her. "Yes. But let us see what the phrase means to Isabel first."
The gazes of everyone in the room turned to centre on her and time suspended itself for the space of a breath. She exhaled, and the spell broke and time restarted. Hamish's face wore a scowl, Ewan arched a black eyebrow and Quinn shared a look with Ianthe. Alick sat next to her and angled his body to face her. Or was it to protect her from the others?
"What does 'shadow men' mean to you, Isabel?" Hamish's words were lightly said but everyone watched. Waited.
Isabel pondered the phrase. There was a deeper question here and it involved a vision the mage-blooded courtesan had. Best to start at the beginning. "I started calling them that years ago. They are shadow men, because they are seldom seen. They linger in the dark waiting to be called forward and do Father's bidding. They can detach themselves from a wall where you would swear no man had stood a moment before. As if they are cloaked in shadows."
It always struck her as odd, the men wrapped in darkness and mist. They disappeared and reappeared like shades, yet these were flesh and blood men, not lost souls of the departed. She once tried to follow one, but he had vanished in the shade cast by an outbuilding. No matter how hard she stared she could not discern their true purpose. What did they do for the duke?
She spoke to the captain across the table from her. "I once asked father for their names and he said they were the Smith brothers. A likely story, for I cannot recollect any familial resemblance between them. Their only ties to each other seem to be money or loyalty."
More glances were exchanged between the men and, like drawing back a curtain, events were unveiled in Isabel's mind and she saw the landscape beyond. Only now did she begin to see clearly, and it chilled her. She glanced around the table at the assembled soldiers. "You never came here to attend a ball. You're watching my father and his shadow men."
Still no one would speak to either confirm or allay her suspicions. Sarah dropped a platter of warm bread on the table, but the food went unnoticed.
"And you all keep silent because you don't trust me." A bitter sob welled up in Isabel's chest. Just when she thought she might have found a place that accepted her, the new home crumbled into the ground, the foundations built on deceit and mistrust.
She turned to the solid presence at her side. "Is that why you married me, so you could get close to my father, looking for something?"
Alick reached out and took her hand. "No, lass, I stood up that night to protect you. You father had one of his shadow men ready and waiting to step forward and claim you."
"No." The denial flew to her lips; her father would never do that. Yet truth lingered in Alick's words. The shadow man himself told her that he intended to try for her. I have long admired your form. Surely her father would not have thrown her to such a man deliberately? He just meant he would have challenged her, as any other man that night could have.
Alick stroked the back of her hand with a large thumb. "Your father must have suspected you would demand a duel and he had one of his men ready to fight the last bout. Imagine your wedding night, Izzy-Cat, if that part of your father's plan had succeeded. He was most keen to see you wedded and bedded, no matter to whom."
She shook her head. What father would do that to his daughter? She bit her knuckles; it was only too clear in her mind what would have happened. She played with her knives and duelling foils but she was no match for brute strength. Alick had shown her that, yet his strength was wrapped in velvet and he only exerted enough to contain her, never any more.
She remembered the way Smith's hand had curled around her arm when he found her in the dark that night. His fingers had bit deep into her flesh and he was uncaring if he left bruises on her skin. Two years ago she had seen what two shadow men did with a maid out in the stables. One had held her arms while the other stepped between her thighs. They had taken turns and Isabel had been too afraid to ask if the woman was willing or not. He would have shown her no mercy and had no regard for her desires.
Strange that thoughts of Alick's strength made heat flare through her body, but the idea of Smith restraining her dashed cold water over her skin.
"Why?" The last ties of kinship she felt to her father strained and snapped. Bonds to her old life fell at her feet, leaving her free. All her life the duke had regarded her as mere chattel, an object to be sold or bartered in whatever way served his larger purpose. Where was the fatherly love? Where was his affection and concern for her, his daughter?
"We don't know why, but think it is tied to a larger purpose. We are at war with France and that gives rise to many motives and opportunities for men," Hamish replied.
Isabel kept her gaze locked on Alick's pale one. He was her anchor in the maelstrom stirred up in her mind. "The night I tried to escape, you said there were things at play I didn't understand."
His hand curled around hers. The warm touch centred her and reminded her that she was not alone, no matter how empty her heart seemed. "Aye. That has not changed."
Sarah removed a delicious-smelling meal from the oven and Aster placed a platter of wild pork on the table. Next came bowls containing peas and sliced potatoes.
One comment itched at her mind and needed to be scratched. "Before I say more, would you share your vision please, Ianthe?"
The courtesan took a sip of beer and swallowed before answering. "My visions are not particularly useful, unfortunately. When we first discussed coming out here I had a flash. I saw men pulling themselves together from shadows, using snatches of darkness to form bodies when summoned. Then, once dismissed, they dissolved back into the dark."
"They are Unnaturals of some sort?" Isabel looked to Alick, who seemed the most unnatural of any afflicted she had met. His creature simmered below the surface and at times his features shifted and she glimpsed the wolf beneath.
"We suspect so. Aster has not found anything similar in her books yet, but we keep searching," Hamish said.
Aster retook her seat next to Hamish. "I keep information on Unnaturals, mages, and the mage-blooded for the War Office and for the newly formed Ministry of Unnaturals."
"If they are drawn from the shadows and able to obscure their features, how did Aster recognise them?" Quinn asked as he dragged the bowl of potatoes closer and heaped more onto his plate.
Aster frowned and looked up at the ceiling. "Hmm… an excellent point, Quinn."
She fell silent for a long moment, lost in thought. Then she looked back down from her inspection of the overhead timbers.
"There may be a number of possible explanations. Perhaps when the duke summons them, they draw their shapes from the shadows but they are not physically present? Or perhaps since they require shadows to hide, in bright light they are unable to obscure their features. The day in Woolwich was a sunny one and light streamed through Sir John's window and lit the spot where they stood." Aster served herself from a bowl as she spoke and then passed it on to her left.
"The ballroom was also brightly lit, with no dark corners for the one you recognised to draw upon. But their affliction is secondary to our current concerns," Hamish said.
Isabel wondered that so much went on in the world around her of which she was completely unaware. "Will you tell me what you suspect my father of being involved in, or is having afflicted henchmen enough?"
"Perhaps you could consider the question from a different perspective. If you were a soldier, what would rouse your suspicions of the duke?" Aster threw Isabel's question back onto her.
Isabel chewed her lip for a moment while she watched a knob of butter slide over the potatoes. She was quite proud of how evenly she had cut them, and the melted butter glazed each segment golden. Then, pulling her gaze from her debut culinary marvels, she took in each person in slow measure. "Father has often chafed against the king's commands and has exhibited French sympathies."
Alick exhaled and squeezed her hand. He gave her the smallest smile that speared through the emptiness and spread warmth through her. She was not alone in this venture, however it ended.
Plates were handed round and quiet conversation broke out as dinner was served and they gave her time to assemble her thoughts and sift through them. Alick placed pork, peas, and potatoes on her plate and then a large hunk of crusty bread. The whole time she followed ideas like strands of yarn. When she unravelled the ball of wool, what truth would she find tied to the end?
"Is that why Father employs his shadow men, to overthrow the king or to advance some French plot? Those men have been in his service for at least ten years now." Although her father was an ambitious man, there was no knowing how many plots and schemes he was involved in. Could his ambition to overthrow King George be tied to his recent French sympathies? Now that questions bubbled up in her mind she wanted answers. And yet none were forthcoming. Or perhaps the answers were right in front of her and she had simply been too wrapped up in her own struggle against society to see her father's machinations for what they were.
"Ten years? In all that time, have you learned anything about who are they?" Ewan asked from the opposite bench.
She turned back her memory, to when they first appeared. They slunk around the edges, staying away from the light, and it was hard to pinpoint when exactly she had first become aware of them. "Ten years ago I first saw one in Father's study. I had been certain he wasn't in there when I entered, as I had snuck in. Yet he appeared from the shadows thrown by the late hour. Since then, they have appeared off and on. They might disappear for months only to reappear again. They aren't staff, but swirl around him."
"How many?" A soft question from Hamish.
"Three, four perhaps. They are hard to distinguish and the light never seems to illuminate their faces, as though it draws back before it touches them. I might not spot one for a long time and I never see them all together. I can almost think I dreamed them up and then one or two will reappear." A couple were more regular than the others. One seemed no more than a vision, dancing in and out of the shadows, his face so indistinct she couldn't recollect any features at all except to name him as male.
"Have you heard any names?" Alick dropped a hand to her thigh.
"Father dismisses all my questions. They are simply referred to as the Smith brothers, but I highly doubt they are related. Their names seem interchangeable—it's as though they are all compressed into one person called Smith."
"What do you mean?" Aster asked.
Isabel struggled to voice the faint concept in her mind. "Of late, more frequently Father refers to them in an odd manner. It's never ‘take a message to John Smith’ or ‘make sure Mr. Smith sees this.’ It's ‘take a message to the Smith.’ ‘I have need of the Smith today.’"
Silence fell. Aster's mug clattered to the table and the gazes of the men centred on the woman with the unusual eyes.
"Smith," she repeated the word, but none seemed to follow the mighty jumps her mind could take. "As in blacksmith. And where does a blacksmith work? At a forge."
Alick swore under his breath and more glances were exchanged amongst the men.
Isabel frowned. "What's the significance of a forge? I doubt these men are blacksmiths."
Aster shook her head. "Not the forge, a Forge. It's a person of interest."
"Are you going to tell me anything, or am I to slash around in the dark guessing at your purpose?" Isabel ignored her drink and glared at the men. Perhaps Alick would tell her later. If not, she still had a knife, and with her new potato-peeling skills, perhaps she could uncover the truth.
"We cannot reveal the full extent of our mission, but some part of it appears to have touched you." Hamish seemed more concerned with his dinner than French plots and Isabel's mental wellbeing. He speared a potato with the tip of his knife and popped it in his mouth.
Isabel's gaze narrowed and Alick chuckled. "We need to trust her, Hamish. She is my wife and part of our lives now. I will vouch for her. I'm sure I could tie her up if she tries to run back to Balcairn."
Tie her up? Honestly, first he spanked her and now he spoke of tying her up. But those low-spoken words rumbled through her torso and heat speared to her core. Why did the idea excite her so? Was it the thought of brushing against his raw strength? She could imagine struggling against bonds as he chuckled and did as he wished with her body.
Isabel grabbed her beer and took a deep drink. The common company was cramming common thoughts into her mind. She should concentrate on other things, like his few words about trust. That meant the world to her. I will vouch for her. She had thought she stood alone in a desolate landscape, only to find Alick fast beside her.
"The Duke of Balcairn is your father, Isabel. We do not want to divide your loyalty." Hamish swallowed the potato and his words alleviated her tension a sliver.
She breathed out a sigh and stared at her hand curled in Alick's. There came the glint of gold from the plain band that encircled her finger. Her father had planned to give her to another, but Alick fought for her. Every minute of every day she had known him, he’d stood beside her. Trust was such a delicate thing, so easily lost and so hard to gain.
"Yes, he is my father." She chose her words carefully, wanting to extend the first tentative offer of trust. Neither party wanted to venture too far or say too much that could not be recanted. "But he lost any loyalty I owed him when he cut me off three years ago. Not to mention that just this week, he sold me, and I know what his choice of husband would have done to me."
"What do you mean ‘cut you off’?" Ianthe, who had been quiet up until now, spoke up.
Isabel smiled and wondered how scandalised they would be if they knew the extent of her larcenist activities. "Father stopped my allowance and said he would not reinstate it until I obeyed his rule."
"So how do you pay for your necessities?" Ewan asked.
"I am resourceful." She would be drawn no more on that subject. A woman needed to keep some secrets.
Alick chuckled beside her, a sound that released the tension in her shoulders. "You are that, lass."
"We will not involve you, but you are now protected should there be any repercussions," Hamish said.
That made her suck in a breath. "Repercussions?"
Aster glanced at her husband and then turned to meet Isabel's worried gaze. "There will be no accusations against the duke without proof of treachery. But if such is found, your family will be ruined. Lands, titles, positions—it will all be swept away."
Gone. If he had betrayed his country everything would be lost. She would have found herself penniless, alone, with nowhere to go. But now she had a husband. An Unnatural one who could shift into a massive wolf. A brute of a man who urinated in vases and who would always be at her side. No matter how hard she tried to get rid of him.
"I will not leave you, Izzy-Cat," Alick said, as though he read her mind. "Whether you want to live in London or row up the Amazon, we do it together."
She drew one deep breath after another. She’d thought her father had ruined her, cast her into the mud, but she found something extraordinary. A man who saw her, who understood her, who would shelter her or ride an elephant next to her. Some decisions were easy to make.
"I will tell you whatever you need to know," she said.
Hamish's hazel gaze held hers. "Any information that might connect your father to a plot with Napoleon, and anything that might help us find Callum Forge. That one is no shadow man but a French vampyre."
Vampyre? She had gone from never having met an Unnatural to being surrounded by them. But which of her father's men was the vampyre? How odd that he wasn't distinguishable when all the newspapers said they were quite dandified.
Then memory sparked in her mind. "Once, while looking for ready coin, I broke into Father's study and went through his cabinet. I found letters in French with rather an ornate seal on the back and when I touched them, I was punished with a crack of magic."