Guilt, for one, and uncertainty for another.
“Alex,” Cap said suddenly, turning slightly in his chair to face Alex clearly, “you never said a word to us about your investigations, and we never questioned because your information was impeccable. But after all of this… Who was your contact in the smuggling world? And why couldn’t they do something for you, or give us an indication you were alive?”
“Jackal,” Alex told him, sipping his beverage.
Cap swore softly under his breath, as did a few others. “Really?”
Alex nodded as he swallowed. “Yes.”
“I had no idea he was still in the game,” Weaver murmured, wide-eyed.
Somehow, that was more amusing than anything else. Weaver, who was one of the Shopkeepers and thus one of the most powerful men in England, did not know everything relating to the covert world.
“Oh, he is,” Alex assured them all. “Very much so. And as for doing something for me… How would he know where I was? It wasn’t as though Battier spread the word that he had me. I was only another slave on board the ship. Besides, I only saw Jackal once while aboard the Amelie Claire, and it was only recently. He was examining crewmembers and slaves for the taking, and when he saw me… Well, I knew he knew me, but he kept his cover perfectly, and was just as derogatory as anyone else. It wouldn’t surprise me if he were the one to confirm that I was alive.”
“Or maybe to get you off the boat?” Rook pressed.
Alex smirked just a little. “When I consider the timing, gentlemen, I think, perhaps, he did.”
Poppy woke with a jolt, her heart racing in her chest, a startled cry on her lips. It never reached her ears, which had to be a small mercy of sorts.
She looked around the darkened room, only the light of the moon streaming through her partially closed curtains. Grateful, she saw that whatever had woken her was not in the room with her. Still trembling, she pressed her hands to her face, then slid them back to grip her plaited hair. It wasn’t often that her sleep was disrupted anymore, despite having trouble enough in her finer days, but everything had changed now.
Everything.
A low, harsh groan met her ears, and she slowly turned towards the sound.
The wall held no answers, but beyond that wall…
Another growling sound came from it, followed by a series of short, unintelligible cries as though pain were being inflicted.
Poppy was out of her bed in an instant, grabbing a thick shawl and wrapping it around her as she opened the door to her room and headed towards the spare room. She gripped the handle tightly in her hand, closing her eyes just as tightly, but still she hesitated.
Alex practically roared within, and she imagined his body arching off the bed as it had in his illness, every muscle straining against some imagined or unseen bonds.
It was utter agony to hear him, but it had to be sheer anguish to feel. She had no comfort to give for demons she did not understand. But to hear him like this…
She moaned faintly as another cry reached her, and she laid her brow against the door, exhaling softly. It would not do him any good for her to stand here and listen, and she could not go in to help him. He would hate to know that she had heard his cries, that she had witnessed his distress, that she might have some inkling of what he suffered, and she could not let his time here be more wretched than it already would be.
Poppy pushed off the door and turned towards the kitchen, then thought better of sitting at the table and waiting for Alex’s nightmare to end.
She unlatched the front door, heading out into the cool night air. She inhaled deeply, the faintest hint of the glorious scent of harvest still lingering on the air. There was nothing so refreshing as that smell, she had discovered, though her mother and sisters would have disagreed emphatically. It spoke of sun and hard work and health, of a natural goodness, and a fresh earthiness that satisfied the soul.
They’d cleared the entire lower field, and most of the upper as well, so they would easily finish by week’s end. It would be the fastest she had ever harvested, and the crop this year was destined to be one of her best.
But then what? A good harvest quickly done, a fair price for it, and help that she hadn’t asked for… And then she would occupy herself with the rest of the village concerns? Stocking up enough for winter, praying the repairs were enough to hold, and keeping herself away from the gossip yet again?
Her life had become a series of monotonous tasks, a sequence of motions to give the impression that all was well in hand. It wasn’t well in hand. It was careening out of control, a maddening cycle that was rapidly spiraling beyond the careful constraints she’d grown accustomed to.
All because Alex wasn’t dead and had come back into her life. She hadn’t even taken the time to properly comprehend that fact.
Alex, who had been her everything.
Alex, whose smile had brightened every corner of her heart.
Alex, who had promised her so much. Had given so much.
He was alive, and he was here.
An unexpected sob escaped her, and she covered her mouth quickly, her eyes filling with tears. Alex was alive, and all the pain she had felt being parted from him all this time suddenly filled her soul again. She’d grown so used to mourning him, missing him, that there hadn’t been room for much else, and now…
Now…
Her hand fell to her chest, and she looked up at the stars, endless in their majesty and vast in number. She had cried so many nights under such skies, remembering the more romantic times she and Alex had spent under the stars, making wishes and dreams, plotting their own constellations…
She missed Alex fiercely with only such stars for company.
Looking up at them now, she found herself missing him again, only for entirely different reasons. She was so changed. He was so changed, and she missed who they had once been. But perhaps the changes were enough that…
Well, she couldn’t think about that now. It was too soon, the wounds were too fresh, and she was too confused to consider much beyond the day at hand.
She inhaled and exhaled slowly, until she had control and was calm once more, then she shivered and turned back into the house, taking great care to latch the door again as silently as possible.
Turning to return to her room, Poppy stopped in her tracks.
Alex stood before the fire, his back to her, hands balled into fists at his sides. He wore no nightshirt and his feet were bare, and the trousers he wore were the ones from his arrival, the fabric of each leg nearly shredded as they hung against his calves.
The limited light from the fire cast his back into stark shadows, each mark somehow seeming worse than they had been before. There was no pattern to them, each line crossing several others, some deeper marks no longer defined, creating ridges and valleys along his lean yet defined musculature that ought not to be there. His arms bore scars as well, much fainter and less easily traced, and along several ribs there seemed to be an odd line as if to trace the bone itself.
Strange how she should notice so much about a back she had so recently tended. She’d only seen the fresh marks then. A lump rose in her throat, and she took two steps forward, knowing he would have heard the door.
“I didn’t hear you come in tonight,” she murmured.
He glanced back at her slightly, though did not turn towards her. “I didn’t know you still slept poorly.”
Poppy smiled very faintly. “I do occasionally. Working on a farm doesn’t lend itself to sleeping poorly. Most of the time, I have no trouble. Some nights, though, the old habit returns, and….”
“That I remember.” He returned his attention to the flames once more. “I don’t mean to disturb you. Or to keep you.”
“You aren’t,” Poppy replied. “I’m still not as fatigued as I ought to be.”
“Nor I.”
She took another step. “Are you sure? You worked so hard today, and you’re not used to…”
“I’m used to it,
” he interrupted, his voice more of a growl. “Believe me, I’m used to far worse.”
Poppy swallowed hard and folded her shawl across her tightly. “I was afraid of that.”
He stiffened, his hands clenching harder, trembling slightly in their aggression.
“The marks look like they are healing well,” she told him, coming closer still. “I’m surprised none of them opened with your exertions today.”
Alex nodded once. “No doubt due to your capable ministrations.”
She chuckled a little. “That, or your impeccable ability to heal. Everything looks clean and seems to be healing perfectly. It’s extraordinary, really.”
He said nothing to that, his hands still clenched.
“Alex,” she murmured as gently as she could, “what happened?”
A sharp intake of breath made her wince, but she remained where she was, just as she was.
“I can see the marks, Alex,” she went on. “And I know there are more I haven’t seen. I see how lean you are compared to what you were. If you weren’t clearly so very strong, the look of you would terrify me to the core.”
“Poppy…”
The strain in his voice was clear, and she ached at its tone. “Alex, please.”
His head lowered, and she watched as a shudder rippled down his sinewy spine. “I can’t.”
“Alex.”
His head shook slowly from side to side. “I can’t, Poppy.”
Poppy ground her teeth together. “Can’t?” she snapped. “Or won’t?”
Alex inhaled slowly, then exhaled the same. “Good night, Poppy.”
The old Poppy would have stayed firm, would have battered him into confessing, would have teased and pressed and situated herself at the kitchen table until he relented and gave her what she wanted.
This Poppy did not want to put forth the effort. She wasn’t sure it would be worth it.
“Good night, Alex,” she muttered, marching past him and returning to her bedchamber, though sleep did not come again for quite some time.
Chapter Ten
“I can’t do it. I just cannot do it.”
“Oh, come now, Rook. You’ve been through worse.”
“I’m not entirely certain I have.”
“I doubt that very much.”
“No, it’s true. I cannot eat one more bite of this abysmal excuse for a meal.”
Poppy raised a brow at the handsome, smiling man whose dramatic remarks had been going on for some time now.
“If you don’t like it, Rook, I invite you to do something productive for the first time since you’ve been here. You cook instead of me. I’ll take your place mending the fence, and get it done in half the time you would.”
The men around her laughed uproariously, while Rook looked delighted, inclining his head in deference.
Even Alex laughed, eyeing them both with amusement. He loved that she was bantering with his friends, that she was not intimidated by them or ashamed of her situation, and that she could give as good as she got. The men would never have been so free with provocation or cynicism had they not had encouragement from her, but now that they had it, there was no restraint at all.
He’d smiled so much in the past two days that it was startling. There was no hint of the man plagued by nightmares she’d seen standing in front of the fireplace, and only this lighter, almost robust version remained. Yet every night, she heard his nightmares rage, and every night, she listened without entering, letting his demons work upon him in private.
There were only traces of them by morning light, but he never spoke of it, and once he was with these friends again, the traces were nearly invisible.
Nearly.
“I’d rather not eat anything Rook makes, Poppy,” Alex’s cousin Gabe said with a wince. “It would be all too inedible.”
Poppy shrugged, smiling a little at the supposedly acerbic man. “He finds my cooking inedible, so it seems there would be no change there.”
“Do you see anyone else complaining?” Gabe asked, giving her a dubious look.
“No, but neither do I see you eating,” she pointed out, bringing more laughter from the group. She sighed heavily and wrapped her arms around her knees, shaking her head. “I suppose I shall have to take the money I was planning to pay my workers and take on Mrs. Burgh for a cook whilst you all are here.”
“That’s not necessary,” Alex said at once, sobering.
“No, really,” Fritz added, his face contorted with worry. “Please don’t…”
Stanton coughed loudly. “Please do. You’ll all leave, I remain, and you don’t know what I’ve suffered.”
Poppy screeched in mock outrage, picked up an apple, and chucked it at him hard. He caught it easily and smirked, taking a large bite out of it.
“I thought I’d perish all the sooner for enduring my recent meals,” Alex offered, wrinkling up his nose.
“You, sir, are barely beyond broth,” Poppy pointed out.
“Indeed,” he replied, giving her a derisive look, “which makes one wonder…”
Fritz hooted a laugh. “Tread carefully, Alex. I would put money on Poppy here.”
Alex didn’t even glance at Fritz, but kept his gaze on Poppy. “It would be a draw.”
“Doubtful,” Gabe offered, making a face.
“We’ve fought before,” Poppy informed the rest, “and it was a draw.”
“Oh, you took pity on him?” Gent made a sympathetic noise. “Very kind of you.”
Poppy inclined her head, smiling a little. “I’ll bring in Mrs. Burgh, if only to save myself the pain of your noise, sirs.”
“I’d happily test out her cooking for the group,” Rook offered with a raise of his hand. “We couldn’t possibly let everyone be subjected to the food prepared by unknown hands. Surely, one must sacrifice himself for the good of the others.”
“Very noble,” Poppy told him with a snort. She looked around at the others. “Is he always like this?”
They all answered as one in the affirmative, and Rook only shrugged in response, giving her a sheepish smile.
Poppy shook her head slowly. “It’s a wonder your wife tolerates you at all.”
“He’s not had her long enough to know what she tolerates,” Gabe muttered, finally showing the sardonic nature everyone said he had.
“I tried to talk her out of marrying him,” Gent pointed out, taking a bite of bread. “She’s unfortunately quite taken with him.”
“Poor girl,” at least three of them said at the same time.
Rook squawked in protest, but Poppy laughed along with the rest, tossing her head back, and breathing deeply.
It had been so long since she had associated with other people like this. People who laughed freely without fear of judgment, who sat and enjoyed a luncheon on the grass without having critical work to return to.
She could have been wrong, it had been so long, but this felt a bit like friendship.
Or something like it.
“I happen to rather like Miss Edgewood’s meal,” Cap offered as he reached into the basket for another bit of cheese.
Poppy beamed at him. “And for that, Cap, you will have two baked apples tonight, if you will all deign to come to the cottage.”
Fritz chuckled and tipped his cap back a bit. “We were going to invite you to Branbury tonight, Poppy.”
“Well, I don’t see why we can’t do both,” Stanton suggested with a wry grin. “Branbury for the meal, then the cottage for apples and mead?”
“Mead?” Poppy laughed as she looked at him. “Who said anything about mead?”
“I’d be in favor of mead,” Rook announced.
Poppy sighed heavily and looked over at Alex. “And when are they leaving again?”
“Not soon enough,” he replied as he looked up at the clouds, smiling despite his serious tone.
“Well, if you’d make up your mind about coming back to London,” Gent teased with a crooked grin, “we’d all get out of Miss Edgewood’s
hair that much sooner.”
“Gent,” Cap said sharply just as Alex’s face turned a shade of grey.
Silence reigned over the group for an awkwardly long moment, Alex unable to meet the gaze of any, though most of the men stared at him.
It was then that realization dawned on Poppy. They expected, or had requested, that he take up his position amongst them in London. Return to the life of a spy. Alex, it seemed, had given no answer.
With all that he had suffered and endured, they expected him to return to the life that had brought him to it? They could not know how he screamed in the night, or the depths of his wounds, the scars that he bore, or the shadows he lived with. If he ever returned to that life, and she freely admitted that she knew nothing of it, they could not expect that he would do so any time soon.
Alex suddenly looked small, frail, and weak under such a burden, and no one was doing anything to relieve him of it.
Poppy got to her feet, wiping off her hands, and then held one out to him. “Alex, come walk with me.”
He looked up at her slowly, almost fearfully, nearly childlike in his manner.
Smiling as gently as she could, she extended her hand out further still, adding a firm, “Walk with me.”
He took her hand and let her help him up, averting his eyes from her and the others as they moved away, passing the barn and the cottage, and letting his hand fall from hers once they found the nearly invisible footpath.
Poppy plucked a small blossom from a flowering bush and fiddled with it absently, content to wait for Alex to speak, if he chose to talk at all.
Walking a country lane with him would be just as comforting without conversation, especially if doing so could save him the torment of expectation from his closest friends.
“They want me to come back,” Alex said after a long moment.
Poppy glanced up at him. “To spying?”
He nodded once.
“Surely not so soon,” Poppy protested, her brow furrowing.
“No, not yet,” he assured her, his eyes fixed on the horizon. “When I’m well and… whole.” He snorted softly. “But they want an answer soon. They want me to take that life back.”
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