Fall from Trace

by Rebecca Connolly

Still, there was work to be done, and he couldn’t very well avoid it. He’d spent the last two days seeing to the interiors of Parkerton, now that the debris had been cleared, and having mended the roof, replaced the broken windows, and repaired the occasional holes in the wall, there was no need to fear that anything would leak and ruin his work. He didn’t need to rummage through the remaining furnishings and place them, he didn’t need to think about finishing rooms or refilling the gaps in the gallery.

  What he did need, however, was firewood.

  Parkerton Lodge had an inordinate number of fireplaces and chimneys, and he and the chimney sweeps had spent the better part of yesterday clearing them all.

  Tomorrow, the beginnings of his new staff, and a few of his old, would come to the lodge, and the kitchens, at least, needed a working fire.

  Wet wood would help no one, but they’d make do.

  So here he was, out in his garden, chopping the wood and brush from what he’d removed and broken down into log-sized pieces they could work with. It was healthy, satisfying work, chopping wood, and although Tailor had clearly told him that he could take whatever he wanted from Branbury, Alex had no desire to do anything of the sort.

  Except, perhaps, for stocking the kitchens.

  And perhaps his lordship’s finest bed.

  But he could certainly chop his own firewood, especially when there was wood enough to spare. He’d quite enjoy sitting by a fire fueled from shards of his uncle’s favorite furniture. He chuckled as he swung the axe down, splitting the wood cleanly. Poor uncle Parkerton would turn in his grave, but it would be worth it.

  Alex sighed and tilted his head back yet again, loving the feeling of being back on his lands, at his home, and being well-rested.

  And at rest.

  Since that night on the docks, he’d slept through the night without trouble. No nightmares plagued him, no fear seized his heart, and his shirt was no longer damp from a cold sweat. He could breathe freely and clearly, could smile and laugh, and had managed a full and detailed debrief with the Shopkeepers and several other operatives without the slightest trouble. Not that it had been comfortable, but it now felt as though it had been a lifetime ago. Ages of time, and almost as if it occurred to another person entirely.

  There was a cool distance between what had happened and what now was. He wasn’t naïve enough to think that he would be free of the shadows and the memories forever; he knew full well they would revisit him from time to time. But if they were no longer his constant companions, he would be content. He had reclaimed himself from the ashes of who he had been and what he had become, and now…

  Now…

  Well, now it was time to move forward. Tailor and Weaver had made that clear to him when he’d given his full debrief, and his solicitor, much relieved that he no longer had to hold interests in trust for a suspected dead man, had assured Alex of the complete security of his finances and estate, despite losing some tenants and his staff. Cap and his brothers in the League had been delighted by his decision to return to them, and they’d rearranged the offices accordingly. All would change soon enough, with Eagle having made the decision to retire and Cap being unanimously nominated to fill his position as their leader and commander, but for now, they would be fully staffed and ready for whatever fallout occurred from their disruption of the Faction’s plans.

  Castleton had been arrested and would soon be found guilty of treason, Mainsley would suffer the same fate, and with the death of Battier, all of the crew of La Belette would now fall under a new commander, one who happened to be on the docks that night.

  Janssen had showed absolutely no remorse or regret over the death of his captain and had assumed the command of the Amelie Claire with satisfaction. Loyalties were now turned, as Janssen had assured Alex that he, “as a Dutchman, had no fondness for French politics, nor French coin”. He fell short of forging an alliance with the League, but he had surprised Alex by offering his apologies for the treatment he had endured.

  Remembering Janssen as the most humane of the officers, and the only one to avoid the outright torturing and taunting of him, Alex had no reservations in accepting the apology.

  La Belette might have been gone from the seas, but soon enough, Janssen, now dubbed De Havik, would take his place in legend and in fear.

  Well, perhaps not that soon. The crew had reportedly been exceptionally drunk that night, compliments of the casks Jackal had informed them of, and the contacts who had delivered the drink had been only too delighted to repeat the stories they’d been told.

  London had been an experience for Alex. Nearly five years since he had been there, and yet it was nearly unchanged from his memories. The Shopkeepers had been delighted to see him, and some of the old operatives he had known had found their way to League headquarters to pay their respects. He felt more and more a spectacle than an operative, but it was good to see former comrades all the same. Wisely, none of them had asked about his time away from them. Whether that had been due to orders against doing so or simply knowing better, he couldn’t say, but he didn’t care.

  He was moving on, and everyone else needed to, as well.

  There was still uncertainty as to how Trace had been compromised as Mr. Turner in the first place, but that investigation would likely be ongoing for ages. Presently, there was more concern for the missing clerk, whom they had all dubbed One, rather than what had caused the compromise four and a half years ago. The clerk known as Two had been absolutely no help in that regard. He was too busy being upset over having twice the work now that his colleague had vanished without a word to care about reasons or circumstance.

  Alex hadn’t stayed to look into the matter with the rest, and they’d all waved him off to set his life and affairs back to rights. He’d take some time to be Alex Sommerville and nothing more, then officially reenter training for however long it took for the powers that be to consider him fit for fieldwork once more, which shouldn’t take long, he was assured. Then, he’d be back into the world and life he had known before, older and wiser, and with a few more scars for his trouble.

  Now, here he was, back in his house and on his lands, a far cry from anything being fully restored, but well on his way. The list of details was undoubtedly longer than the list of repairs, and he was quite certain that when his butler, Bridges, was restored to him, he would let him know just how long that list was.

  Alex was, strangely enough, looking forward to it. Any sense of normalcy would be welcome, no matter how trivial.

  He swung the axe down again, severing the remains of what was once a chair, and paused to collect the chopped wood into a pile, scooping it all into his arms and carrying it over to the stables. His horse greeted him with a snuffle, coming to the edge of his stall in anticipation. At the moment, he only had the one horse, though there was space for a good many more in the expansive stables. He chuckled at the anxious nickering of the creature.

  He stacked the wood neatly in the dry stall beside the horse, then moved over to rub the animal’s nose.

  “You don’t want to go out in this, do you?” he teased. “It’s a cold rain, and we’ve only been back from London a few days. I took you for a long ride yesterday, so what are you complaining about, hmm?”

  The horse nudged against his hand insistently.

  Alex laughed and scratched between the horse’s ears. “I don’t have any treats for you, my friend. I don’t even have treats for me. We’ll have to ride over to Branbury tonight, and let you enjoy their stables and stores, eh?

  The horse nickered in approval, and Alex rubbed it’s nose again, grinning.

  “Good boy.” He patted his neck and stepped away. “I’ll be back later, all right? We may even go for a ride, if you stop fussing.”

  The horse made no response, eliciting a loud laugh from Alex as he strode from the stables. Returning to the woodpile, he glanced up and saw the cottage in the distance. His stomach clenched, and he wrenched his gaze away, his heart protesting with wild patterin
g. He shook his head and began splitting the logs again, determined to focus all his attention and energies there.

  Whatever contentment he’d felt in returning to Parkerton, it could not smother the feelings with regards to that cottage, and the woman within.

  He hadn’t seen Poppy since he’d returned, and he wasn’t sure he had plans to. Oh, he wanted to see her, and desperately, but after what she’d seen and endured, he wasn’t sure he could bear it. The dreams, once full of torment and torture, were now full of Poppy; having grand and histrionic reunions with her, running his hands over her to ensure her injuries were minimal at most. Yet, he woke with empty arms, no such reassurance, and overwhelming guilt.

  He’d had word of her from Stanton and knew full well that she was fine. But fine was not good enough.

  It would never be good enough.

  Staying holed up at Parkerton wasn’t good enough, either. She deserved more from him. She deserved answers and apologies, and some assurance of his regard. Something relating to the future, no doubt, and anything else he could think of to offer her. She had endured far too much for his sake before this, and now with what she’d endured in Liverpool…

  A more valiant man would have retreated heroically from her life, falling upon his own sword to give her the protection she deserved.

  Alex wasn’t that valiant. He would never be able to be parted from her forever, yet he was unable to move any closer. He was trapped in this world of in-between, not one thing or the other, and the undefined state of them was enough to restrain his actions.

  What if she turned away? What if, upon reflection, she no longer cared for him in any way? He didn’t know for certain what she felt for him now, and their distance before Liverpool had been strained.

  Now…

  He swung the axe down on a new log, grunting with the unnecessary force of his blow. He kicked aside the smaller shard, and then reset what remained, swinging again and splitting it nearly even.

  The rain poured down on him, and he wiped his hand across his sweat and rain dampened brow. He wondered if a man who was brave in the world could truly be so cowardly in his heart.

  He swung the axe blade down on the now empty block, leaning against the handle, then looked up towards the cottage again.

  Except Poppy was standing there now.

  Not at the cottage, but there. Before him.

  Watching him.

  Poppy swallowed harshly as Alex finally stared back at her, his shirt and his hair damp from the rain, his eyes dark and unreadable. Her loose bonnet dripped rain in an odd cadence with her heart, but she ignored it. She could scarcely breathe now that they saw each other, and she’d had a hard-enough time with watching him work. There was a deep vitality to him now that had been so absent since he’d been back. An intensity that was intoxicating and captivating, thrilling and wild. While it certainly reminded her of the man she had known before, it was so much more in this man he’d become.

  She’d wondered for days when he would come back, though Stanton had repeatedly assured her that he was very well, that they all were, but that operations such as the one that had gone on in Liverpool required many meetings, lots of paperwork, and a good deal of resolution that could take quite some time. She could easily believe that, but she also refused to believe that they would keep Alex for so long to see to the details when he had endured so much already.

  She had been going absolutely mad up at the cottage, unable to think or to sit still, completely and perfectly useless to anyone and anything. Her worries and fears had grown exponentially since they’d returned, particularly with Stanton refusing to give her any real understanding of what might have gone on. Her imagination had run rampant, destroying her dreams and any hope of optimism.

  Then, last night, she’d seen light within the windows of Parkerton, and it had taken all of her self-control to keep from riding over that moment.

  Or first thing this morning.

  But she was here now, and so was he. Her bruises were almost gone, while his injuries would take longer. Yet, they were clearly healing, and he was not in any way limited by them.

  Seeing him healthy and vibrant and strong before her, it was as though he had come back to her all over again.

  She was fairly certain she wouldn’t strike him this time.

  Alex watched her steadily, his chest rising and falling without the slightest hint of distress, and his calm unnerved her. She’d practiced several things to say as she’d crossed the miles to come face him, but now they all vanished into thin air.

  He was here. She was here.

  That was all she knew.

  She opened her mouth to say something, to say anything, but all that came out was a sob she hadn’t known was welling.

  Alex moved the moment he heard it, and she watched him come, more sobs surging up and begging for release.

  They never got the chance.

  His mouth crashed down on hers, his arms sliding around her and pulling her closer than she thought was humanly possible. She latched her fingers into his hair and kissed him back with everything she had, frantically trying to keep up with the fervor and passion he was bestowing on her suddenly trembling frame. They kissed deeply, eagerly, and then with tenderness and feeling that brought more tears to her eyes.

  He groaned as his hold tightened, their lips parting only for his to dance across her face and brow. Breathlessly, Poppy cradled his head against her, arching up to meet him, sighing with every touch of his lips against her suddenly feverish skin. His mouth found hers once more, one hand cupping her face as the other fixed itself around her waist, keeping her in place.

  “Alex,” Poppy gasped as he broke off again, his brow and nose touching hers as their frantic pants mingled between them. She touched his jaw, curled her fingers into his hair, nuzzled softly as her senses continued to reel in ecstasy.

  “I love you, Poppy,” he rasped, grazing his lips across her. “Still love you. Have always loved you. Every minute of every day of every one of those years that I was in that hole, my only thought was you.”

  Poppy shook in his arms at the confession and gripped his shirt with one hand, desperate for the anchor of him to keep her steady.

  “You are my everything,” he went on. “I exist for you. I’d have died a thousand times over in that place to be by your side for just a moment. And when you were taken…” He broke off with a pained growl and shook his head. “I’d have endured it all again just to get you back.”

  Poppy exhaled a dry sob and pulled back, wetting her lips as she met his eyes, her knees quivering. “I lied, Alex, when I told you that I loved you.”

  Alex stiffened in her hold, and he began to pull away, averting his eyes.

  She seized his face with her free hand and tightened her hold in his soaking shirt, forcing his gaze to remain on her. “I made you think I’d stopped loving you,” she said. “But I couldn’t. I didn’t. I can’t.”

  Alex moaned softly and brought her back to him, pressing his lips to her brow.

  “I never stopped loving you, Alex,” Poppy whispered. “Not for a moment. I still love you.”

  He kissed her into silence, cradling her against him as though she would break with too much force.

  “Oh, my love,” he murmured against her lips, sealing his over hers again and again. “I’m so sorry. So very sorry.”

  “Shh.” She pressed her fingers to his lips and shook her head. “I don’t want an apology. I don’t need one.”

  “But you deserve one,” he insisted. He sighed and held her against his shoulder, burying his face into her hair, her bonnet now long gone. “You deserve so much, and I can’t give you half of it.”

  Poppy wrapped her arms around him, holding him now as much as he was her. “I don’t care,” she told him. “I don’t care about any of that. I just want you, Alex. You’re all I have ever wanted.”

  He shuddered at her words, his mouth at her ear. “I am a broken man, Poppy. I may never be whole again.” />
  She smiled and pulled back, running her fingers through his hair. “A treasured thing once broken becomes more favored, does it not? More precious for the fear of losing it forever? We are more careful with it, more mindful, and more aware. The damage wakes us to the true, irreplaceable value of it, and we love it all the more.”

  Alex smiled back, took one of her hands and pressed a warm kiss to the palm, then laid it against his heart. “And being apart from what we love most only makes the love and longing greater, the reunion sweeter, and the dreams more precious.” He touched his brow to hers again, sighing heavily. “Tell me I may finally live those dreams with you now, Poppy Edgewood. Tell me I may have you as my wife, as my lady, as my love… That when my shadows find me in the night you will be there to bring me back to the light. That you will always be beside me.” He suddenly grinned and nudged his nose with hers. “And that you will fill this ramshackle house with as many children as you can tolerate without killing me.”

  Poppy laughed and kissed Alex with all the joy in her heart, still laughing against his lips. “Yes, Alex,” she finally said when his kiss turned hot. “Yes to all that and everything more.”

  His eyes crinkled with his smile and he pulled her in for a warm embrace, each of them laughing breathlessly. “Good,” he eventually said, relief washing over them both. Then he paused. “Does your being cut off prevent me from having to ask your father for your hand?” Alex asked hopefully. “He’s never liked me, you know, and I don’t think…”

  He broke off when Poppy cuffed him along the back of the head, pulling back to give him a warning look. “Really, Alex?”

  He shrugged, still outright grinning. “I’ll write to him today, but I don’t care what he says, you know. I’m marrying you no matter what. Nothing’s going to stop me.”

  “Really?” Poppy said again, unable to keep from smiling back.

  Alex’s eyes darkened. “Not a damned thing, my love. I’m a spy for the Crown, after all. Back from the dead, even.” He nodded slowly, smiling in a way that made her toes curl. “And when all is said and done, you are the only thing I really need.”