He had forgotten what this feeling was.
How it felt.
How he’d craved it.
Never mind how he’d loved her, it was this friendship, this companionable silence, this comfort in her warmth that had always filled him to the brim and kept him from darkness.
And they’d laughed today. So much and without restraint, and he felt whispers of his old soul rising within him, a renewal of the man he’d been. The shadows would return that night once he was alone, as they always did, but for now, he would revel in the rarity of light.
“Do you often walk the old paths, Poppy?” Alex asked, glancing over at her.
Poppy’s lips curved up in a bemused smile. “No, actually. Never. Couldn’t you tell by the lack of wearing on them?”
He looked down at his feet and smiled a little, seeing that there was almost no path at all before them, though they both knew the exact way of it. “So it is. But it’s such a charming walk, and so many memories to accompany you!”
“Hmm, that is true,” she allowed, tilting her head for effect. “But I don’t have the time or the leisure to take the walks or engage in the memories of them when there is a farm to see to and work to be done. Some of us,” she added with a scolding glare at him, “have an occupation to see to and responsibilities to maintain.”
Alex raised his hands in mock surrender. “Apologies, Miss Edgewood. I shall find occupation forthwith.”
Poppy chuckled and plucked a blade of the long grass, threading it through her fingers as they walked. “And what would you do, Mr. Sommerville? Or my Lord Parkerton, rather.”
The sound of his title nearly made Alex gag, his throat clenching in response. “Sommerville will suffice,” he managed eventually. “And I thought I might become a steward for whoever currently inhabits Whitesdown. I know it well enough, and better than they do, I daresay.”
“Undoubtedly,” she admitted, smiling further still. “They’re never in residence, so I doubt they know it at all.” She gave him a mock frown, then shook her head. “No, a steward won’t do for you, though you’d have free reign here. Find a new occupation.”
Alex pretended to think on it, then said, “A blacksmith. Mr. Taylor is aging, and unless I am mistaken, Peter is still floundering hopelessly in the army.”
“That he is,” Poppy agreed, her smile returning in full force. “But I had no idea you had such interest in metalworking, let alone the skills to work in it.”
“I don’t,” he said with a shrug. “I could shoe a horse, but as far as anything else…”
“Then why would you suggest that as an occupation?” Poppy laughed.
Alex grinned sheepishly. “Hot fire, pounding metal with a hammer, exerting myself and working in a dangerous environment… It’s a dream come true.”
She rolled her eyes with an accompanying groan. “You are behaving like a nine-year-old!”
“A bit older, I think. Probably more like eleven.”
“Oh, because eleven is so much better than nine?” Poppy shot back, a familiar mischievous light in her eyes.
“Actually, it is,” he replied with a sniff. “It is two full years of additional experience and maturity, which is more than enough time to develop a better sense of self. Ask any young lad in this world, and they will tell you that eleven is far and away better than nine.”
Poppy stared at him for a long moment, her mouth gaping, though she still smiled in a way. “Well, nine, eleven, or seventeen, you still don’t have the skills required to become a blacksmith, so unless you plan on spending the appropriate amount of time as an apprentice to learn the trade properly, you still need to find an occupation.”
Alex heaved a dramatic sigh. “I didn’t know this had to be so realistic.”
“You’re the one who said he would get an occupation forthwith,” Poppy reminded him with all the tone and scolding of an older sister. “I just presumed that meant you were currently capable of something.”
He winced and looked up at the sky. “Then I suppose I shall become a spy.”
Poppy’s laughter rang through the countryside around them, dancing off the tall grass and the trees, and possibly reaching even to the scattered clouds above them in the sky of dusk. He smiled at her, delighted in the irony that she would never know, and loving how she laughed with her entire body and without reservation.
Her brilliant hair caught the lingering rays of sun and glinted temptingly as it danced against her shoulders, nearly coming loose from its sensible plait. Her cheeks, not to be outdone, seemed to steal some of the sky’s brilliance for their rosy shade, broken only by the edges of her lips as she laughed over and over. Between the glorious sight and the musical tones of her laughter, Alex felt himself more drained of strength and sensation than he had been yet in this venture of his.
Lord, how he’d missed her.
“And what,” he managed to ask through a clogged throat, “is so amusing about that?”
Poppy looked over at him, a tear of mirth escaping one fair eye. “Oh, Alex, that is absolutely ridiculous. A spy? I thought we were going for realistic.”
He sputtered in protest. “Spies are real,” he assured her. “I met one once.”
“Did you now?” she inquired, clearly humoring him. “Where, pray tell, was that?”
“London,” he said simply.
Poppy nodded rather sagely. “Of course, you did. And I’m sure he was very upfront with you about his being a spy.”
Alex gave her a smug smile and clasped his hands behind his back. “I’ll have you know she was rather direct and upfront about it, and there was nothing that terrified me more.”
That made Poppy laugh again, this time a hard bark of a laugh. “Now that, I believe wholeheartedly.” She sighed and looked towards the darkened edifice of Whitesdown and seemed to stiffen slightly. “Shall we go back? Stanton will be moaning for his dinner.”
“I’m sure Stanton would survive if he had to prepare his own dinner,” Alex muttered good naturedly, “but by all means, let us go back.”
They turned and walked back the way they had come, Poppy still absently fiddling with the strand of grass in her hands.
“What about you?” Alex asked, not willing to lose this opportunity to silence.
“What about me what?” she returned, lifting a brow. “Am I a spy?”
He chuckled and shook his head. “I don’t want to know if you are, though I suspect you would be quite good at that.”
She nodded primly, tucking a stray strand of copper hair behind her ear. “Too right, I would be.”
“I know.” He smiled at her, though she had turned to look out across the expanse of fields and did not see it. “I meant your occupation, though. If you weren’t farming, if you had a real choice, what would you choose?”
Poppy looked over at him again, this time incredulous. “I thought we were being realistic.”
Alex shrugged almost easily, his shoulder twinging slightly with the motion. “Why should that not be realistic?”
“Because realistically,” she replied with some bite to her tone, “I wouldn’t have an occupation if I had a real choice, let alone farming.”
Various curses in various languages with varying vehemence raced across Alex’s mind, and it was now his turn to look away, pain searing him with acute efficacy. He didn’t need to be reminded of her situation, and while he had no proof, he was convinced he was to blame for it. But she wasn’t going into details of the time he was gone, and he wasn’t asking. Just as she wasn’t asking about his details.
Still, they both wondered, and they knew it well.
“I could have been a governess, I suppose,” Poppy mused, ignorant to Alex’s suffering. “Not for older girls, but young ones. I had patience once and a fondness for children before the girls became silly and frivolous.”
“You were never silly or frivolous,” Alex recalled with a faint smile.
Poppy shook her head slowly, looking up at him again. “No, I wasn’t,
was I?”
Perhaps it was the golden hue of the world around them, perhaps it was the soft tone of her voice, perhaps it was the time they had spent reveling in their fonder past, but when Poppy’s eyes met his, something shifted on its axis. Things slid into place, things slid out of place, and he wasn’t quite sure if everything were suddenly perfectly right or perfectly wrong.
But it was perfect in some way, that much he knew.
“Poppy,” he murmured, his voice suddenly hoarse.
Her eyes turned wary, but she said nothing in response.
A thundering of several hooves in the distance met their ears, and they turned towards the sound, Alex’s stomach dropping to his toes. He couldn’t see who or how many, but it was enough to grab Poppy’s arm. “To the house,” he ordered. “Now.”
She didn’t argue, and they both ran for the cottage, Stanton appearing in the doorway as they reached it.
“What is it?” he demanded, brow furrowing.
“Riders,” Alex replied, practically shoving Poppy into the house.
Stanton gave him a derisive look. “Get inside, man, you’re half dead.”
“Am not,” he retorted, though his knees now shook in a more tremulous manner.
“What?” Poppy half-screeched from inside. “You should have told me!”
“It’s been a long day,” Alex retorted hotly. “I’m not dying!”
Stanton suddenly pushed him within. “Regardless, get in, and save your legs, just in case.” He shut the door firmly behind him, an emphatic note in the click of the latch.
There was no arguing with that, and Alex moodily moved across the kitchen, ignoring Poppy’s glare. He wasn’t used to inaction, but now that he had been forced into a retreating, protected position, he was grateful to have it. He wouldn’t have been able to run much further than the boundaries of the land, let alone a proper escape. And he would never have been able to properly protect Poppy, no matter how he would have wished to.
He wasn’t entirely sure he remembered how to do any of the fighting he’d been endlessly trained on anyway. He hadn’t used a weapon in years. His mind was sluggish and clouded most of the time, and instincts were slow, if they were there at all.
He was better served as bait than anything else.
“Trace…” Stanton’s bemused voice called, an odd sort of warning as the riders could now be easily heard.
That could only mean one thing.
Alex turned to Poppy with pain in his eyes as his stomach suddenly clenched in anticipation. “I am so sorry,” he whispered as he dropped into a chair.
“For what?” she asked, clearly bewildered.
He shook his head slowly, and stared at the door, waiting.
They were here.
Chapter Seven
The door burst open without any trouble.
Clearly, Stanton had stepped aside, as there had been no sounds of struggle at all.
Oddly enough, Alex remained in his seat, looking somehow resigned and miserable while his right foot bounced anxiously, the elbow resting on that knee shaking into his shoulder, his clenched hands almost still with the motion.
Poppy wrenched her gaze from him as the door opened, and her hands balled into fists, unsure what her reaction ought to have been.
First through the door was a very tall man with dark hair and dark eyes, though his complexion was fair, and he was roughly pushed aside by an only slightly shorter man with angular features and bright blue eyes. They stepped into the room, staring at Alex with wide eyes, and Alex stared back, expression carefully composed.
Three more men entered the house after them, though the first, a slender man with almost green eyes, didn’t seem as stunned as the rest. The remaining two men, one with a tanned complexion and dark coloring, the other with dark curls and fair eyes, moved slowly, their eyes fixed on Alex as though he were a ghost that would soon disappear from their presence.
It was the one with curls that drew Alex’s attention fully, and he slowly rose from his chair, fixed on him with all intensity.
Poppy watched them, the silence of the room almost eerie after the thundering of the horses outside.
Stanton came into the house, and shut the door softly behind him, leaning his back against it as he, too, took in the sight.
“Alex,” the man with curls breathed, his pale eyes impossibly wide.
Alex swallowed hard. “Gabe.”
Suddenly, the men were embracing hard, arms clenched around each other, the material of shirts being gripped tightly in hand.
Poppy didn’t understand the intensity of emotion she was witnessing, nor why the other men suddenly smiled a little, and several throats seemed to swallow hard as they watched the scene.
Eventually, Alex clapped Gabe on the back and shook his head as he pulled back to look at him. “You’ve gotten old.”
Gabe grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he did so. “You, on the other hand, are a sight for sore eyes, cousin.”
Poppy jerked in her seat and looked over at Stanton in shock. Cousin? Alex didn’t have any cousins that she knew of, he’d never mentioned family at all other than Lord Parkerton in all the time they had known each other, and yet…
Gabe pounded Alex on the shoulder, grinning and shaking his head. “Damn, it’s good to see you, Alex.”
Alex smiled, though it was far less than the joy his cousin displayed. “You too, Gabe.” He looked beyond his cousin to the rest. “All of you, actually.”
“Probably not me, right, Trace?” the dark one quipped stepping forward to shake Alex’s hand.
“Gent,” Alex greeted, pulling him in for a quick hug. “Even you.”
He shook hands with the tallest two, both of whom seemed somehow superiors of the rest, and they were surprisingly quiet in their conversations and greetings with Alex.
“And who’s this?” Alex asked, as he turned to the last man.
“Rook,” he replied, stepping forward with an easy, crooked smile, hand outstretched.
Alex’s brows shot up. “Rook, who used to work with the Foreign Office?”
Rook nodded once, still smiling. “The same. And it’s an honor to meet you at last, Trace.”
Poppy frowned as she watched, wondering who these people were. One or two of their faces seemed somehow familiar, but the names were strange, and none of them seemed to acknowledge the fact that this was her home. She’d heard Stanton call Alex “Trace”, but she hadn’t yet worked up the courage to ask about it.
If these men were calling him Trace, as well, then what did that mean?
Alex looked at the one called Rook carefully, then pointed to his left eye, which Poppy could now see was discolored. “What happened to the eye?”
Rook touched the bruises around his eye carefully, looking a little sheepish. “Oh, that was a belated wedding present from Rogue.”
“What?” Alex reared back and looked at Gabe, then back to Rook. “Why?”
Rook shrugged. “He didn’t like that I was investigating you and your cases without telling them, which led to you being discovered as not dead, and he felt left out.”
“Good lord, Gabe…” Alex coughed, smiling more genuinely at last.
Gabe scowled and shifted his weight uneasily. “I did apologize.”
“You did?” Rook asked, eyes wide. “When? Did I miss it?”
Poppy ignored the laughter of the group and looked around at them all, her brow furrowing as her stomach clenched. They all thought he had been dead, too? That would explain the intensity of emotion between Alex and his cousin, she supposed, and certainly their appearance here. But who were they? What had brought them here?
Was anyone going to notice that she was here?
She sat up straighter in her chair, resting her hand on the table, and started drumming her fingers there.
The tallest one instantly noticed, and he smiled at the sight. “Trace, would you care to introduce us?”
Alex frowned at him, then looked over at Po
ppy, his expression clearing.
“Oh…” He glanced over to the tallest one and the man next to him, both of whom nodded once.
Poppy may have imagined it, but she thought the other men suddenly stiffened at the nod.
Stanton seemed to be the only one completely unperturbed by any of this.
Curious.
“Poppy Edgewood,” Alex began in a vacant tone, “these are… they are…” He exhaled shortly, shaking his head. “I’m not sure if they are brothers or friends or comrades, or something far less complimentary.”
“I beg your pardon,” Gent grunted, smirking a little.
Alex rolled his eyes, and turned to them, pointing at each without politeness. “Rook, whom I have just met but am already inclined to like better than anyone else.”
Rook bowed, grinning proudly.
“Rogue, who also bears the unfortunate curse of being my cousin, Gabe.”
Rogue nodded, far less inclined to smile now than before, and suddenly seeming quite dangerous.
“Gent.”
“Charmed, Miss Edgewood,” Gent replied, also bowing and smiling warmly at her.
“Cap,” Alex continued, now indicating the tall one with fair hair and eyes.
“Miss Edgewood,” Cap replied, somehow doing a combination of a bow and nod.
“And Weaver,” Alex continued, gesturing to the tallest one.
Weaver smiled and nodded respectfully. “Apologies for barging in on you like this, Miss Edgewood. We are usually much better behaved. I’m sure arriving en masse like this must be particularly overwhelming for you.”
Poppy managed a smile. “Trust me, I’m growing accustomed to being overwhelmed of late.”
Alex winced at that, but Poppy wasn’t about to apologize or feel the slightest bit of guilt for finally saying it.
“I presume you all thought he was dead, too?” she added, not bothering to keep the bite out of her tone.
Cap looked at the others, then stepped forward. “Yes, Miss Edgewood, we did. We only received word a few days ago that he was alive, and had been preparing to mount a rescue…”
Fall from Trace Page 8