He wrapped his hand tighter around Aster's upper arm and pushed her in front of him. Propelling her back toward the path and out of the clearing meant he moved the pistol and it was no longer aimed at Aster. Dougal didn't like the way his mistress was being manhandled. The dog barked and leapt at Smith. He latched onto the man's trouser and he called out as the terrier's sharp teeth found his leg under the fabric.
Isabel decided to follow the dog's lead. It was time for action. Smith kicked out his leg, trying to dislodge Dougal. The momentary lapse in his attention gave Aster a chance to wrench sideways in his grip. Isabel also jumped into the fray. She gripped the knife and ploughed into Smith. His hand holding the pistol waved in her direction, but she was too close now. Being under his guard, he couldn't draw the weapon back quickly enough. As her shoulder angled into him, she lashed out and shoved hard with the knife.
Alick might have been a common soldier, but over the last few days he had taught her skills no noble husband would dare impart. They sparred and fought in the meadow beside the lodge and he taught her how to compensate for her lack of strength by using speed. He also taught her the soft spots on a man, the places where they were most vulnerable. He counselled her not to worry about fancy footwork in a fight, but to go for the messy thrust that would incapacitate an opponent.
Isabel heeded her husband's lessons as the blade sliced through cloth and then met flesh. Still she thrust it deeper and upward as Alick had shown her, until hot blood washed over her hands. Smith uttered an oomph and stumbled back. He looked down at the embedded knife and Isabel's hands, stained red.
"You'll pay for that," he said, lifting his right arm to aim the pistol at her.
Isabel held her breath, waiting for the inevitable shot, but a curious thing happened. Instead of the sharp retort of a pistol firing there came a soft thud and Smith flowed to the ground. He didn't drop like a felled tree, but pooled like a piece of fabric. His ankles wobbled, then his knees buckled and he draped himself along the track.
Behind him stood Aster holding a short, fat lump of wood. She looked down at the prone man. "Only one person will be paying for their actions. It would seem we have solved one mystery: Shadow men can bleed."
Isabel thought how different this was compared to when the deer died. The animal had slipped from this world peacefully, giving its life to sustain others, and Alick had given his thanks for its sacrifice. This seemed messy and angry. The prone man wasn't moving, but it could be a trap. If they neared he might fling out a hand and grab one of them.
"Is he dead?" Isabel wondered if she should kick him and see if he reacted. A dark stain spread under his body and soaked into the porous earth.
Aster bent down and placed her fingers against his neck, still holding the lump of wood in her other hand. "No. He still has a pulse."
A howl came from down the track and Isabel suspected the quiet stretch of forest had never seen such activity. A large auburn wolf galloped down the track with Hamish right behind. Dougal gave a joyous bark on spotting his packmates.
Hamish barely glanced at the body on the track, and swung Aster into his arms as soon as he reached her.
The enormous auburn wolf shifted from animal to man between one footfall and another. Alick pulled the tweed around his middle and then took hold of Isabel by the shoulders, his worried gaze dropping to her blood-covered hands. "Are you all right, Izzy-Cat?"
"Yes, the blood is his. He recognised Aster and was going to take her away. I would not let him hurt a friend. We kept him in the sunlight where he could not draw upon the shadows. We did not want him to either disappear or alert the others." She searched Alick's face for any sign of anger or disgust. Had she done the right thing?
He kissed her forehead and then folded her in an enveloping embrace that shut out the world. Warmth and security surrounded her. "That's my resourceful Izzy-Cat. We look out for each other in our family."
Hamish's voice broke through the moment. "Give me a hand, Alick. Let's move him off the track into the forest, before anyone else stumbles along."
Giving her arm a squeeze, Alick helped his cousin carry the man deeper into the forest. Voices murmured for long minutes. Aster pulled Isabel to sit on a fallen log, while they waited and gathered their wits. Dougal remained their constant guardian, the dog on high alert as he monitored the forest.
A sharp crack made both women sit upright and stare at one another. It sounded as though one of the men had stood on a stick, yet a shiver down her spine said it most definitely wasn't a stick that had snapped. Then their husbands emerged from the trees.
Hamish laid a hand on Aster's shoulder. "Alick will walk you both back to the lodge and send on Ewan. We'll deal with Mr. Smith."
"Is he dead?" Isabel hadn't considered the consequences of her actions until now. Was she a murderess? Had she killed to defend Aster? First poaching, then burglary and now murder. She really had thrown herself into her new role.
Hamish's hazel gaze met hers. "He is dead, but by my hand, not yours. It seems a dead shadow man remains corporeal and doesn’t dissolve back into shadow."
She let out a deep breath. Smith's demise was not by her hand. It was a tiny fact that her mind needed to hear, to find comfort in her actions defending Aster.
"My father will notice him missing. As will his companions." She glanced up at Alick. Clouds gathered in his pale gaze and a shiver ran down her spine.
Hamish leaned down and kissed Aster's cheek. "We'll worry about that later. Go back to the lodge and wash your hands."
21
Alick
* * *
One of the horses had thrown a shoe and delayed Alick and Hamish as they did a bit of impromptu farrier work. Once inside, Ianthe had urged them to hurry to catch up with the other women. The way she clenched her hands together made him wonder if her mage-blood had sent her a vision of trouble. Alick didn't pause to ask. He tore off his clothes, grabbed the strip of tartan, and shifted. He was dimly aware of Hamish running behind him.
When he spotted Isabel standing in the middle of the track with blood over her hands, he thought his heart would explode. He had to have her in his arms, to reassure himself she was safe and unharmed. In a few short days she had become something critical in his life, the one thing that he could not consider doing without, like air or Aunt Maggie's moonshine.
The sharp pain in his chest only abated once he reassured himself that his Izzy-Cat was unhurt. Only then did Alick help Hamish carry Smith off the dirt track and into the forest. They laid the unconscious man under a large tree. Hamish pulled back the injured man's coat to reveal Isabel's short knife jutting from his stomach.
The captain let out a low whistle. "She got that in deep."
Alick leaned in closer and a flush of pride ran through him. "And angled up, just like I showed her."
He grabbed the hilt and pulled it free to an accompanying gush of blood. Using a pile of loose leaves, he wiped the worst of the mess from the blade and then tucked it in a fold of wool at his waist. He would clean it properly back at the lodge and return it to the sheath attached to her thigh. They had more immediate problems to deal with first.
"What shall we do with him?" Alick asked. The man was an enemy agent who had played a part in the torture and murder of Aster's father, and who knew what other tasks at his master's direction? The unfortunate's life span was now measurable in breaths and minutes. Stomach wounds were notoriously fatal even if a mage healer were available. The man had already slipped into the unconscious state just before death. It was a simple matter of when he would die, not if.
"I made a promise to Aster and I intend to keep it." Hamish took the man's head between his hands, then twisted and pulled at the same time. You could almost think the snap another forest noise, if it weren't for the unusual angle the man's head now rested at.
They went through Smith's pockets but found little apart from a dirty handkerchief, a handful of copper pennies, and a torn piece of newspaper.
Hami
sh held it up to the light and examined both sides. "It's an advertisement for Browning and Sons, ‘purveyors of items of discernment.’ That's our merchant who keeps a warehouse at the West India docks."
Alick ran a hand over the back of his neck. He didn't understand the way nobles collected useless expensive items, like bowls the size of chamber pots. "Why would he keep a clipping about our merchant?"
Hamish shrugged and then folded the slip and tucked it into his own pocket. "It cannot be coincidental. Perhaps to remind himself of the address, or there may be a hidden clue in the advertisement."
"That's something else for Aster to puzzle out," Alick said.
Hamish shot his cousin a sideways look. "She has a rare mind, Alick, and I will utilise her intelligence. A woman should be valued for her abilities, not just her appearance."
Oh, he valued his Izzy-Cat's abilities, especially the ones that involved something sharp or pointy. The men pushed through the undergrowth and emerged on the path, where the women and Dougal waited. Their wives rose on seeing them.
"Take the women back to the lodge and send along Ewan," Hamish said. He kissed Aster and then entrusted his wife to Alick.
It was a quiet walk back to the lodge, everyone lost in their own thoughts. Alick was relieved that neither woman seemed ill-affected by their encounter—not that either was the sort to indulge in histrionics or fainting. He waited until both women went inside the lodge before seeking out Ewan in the stables. The lieutenant was grooming his mount, using long strokes to remove loose hair from the animal's coat. He didn't even arch a well-groomed eyebrow at Alick's half-naked state. The other Wolves were used to Alick spending more time clad in fur than skin.
Alick leaned on the stable door. "Trouble along the path. Smith recognised Aster and Isabel dealt with him."
That news did make a black eyebrow arch and Ewan stopped brushing the horse. "For a noble-born woman, your wife has a variety of distinctly un-noble skills."
"Aye. Hamish finished the job but now he needs a hand to tidy up." Alick didn't need to spell it out; the men had worked too long together.
Ewan nodded and then patted the horse's rump before pushing open the stall door. "I'll not leave him waiting too long."
Alick left the lieutenant to gather a few supplies and join Hamish. He found his hastily discarded pile of clothes and dressed before heading inside. Sarah had taken charge. He found Isabel sitting at the kitchen table, a bowl of steaming water before her as she scrubbed at her nails with an end of soap and a small brush. While she cleaned herself, Alick retrieved oil and a cloth to clean her knife.
Ianthe used the rest of the hot water in the kettle to make tea. "Do you think the duke's other men know who you are?" she asked as Aster narrated events.
Aster paused, teacup in her hands. "No. I believe this particular Smith was suspicious but didn't have it confirmed until he encountered us and he saw my eyes. Isabel kept him in the sunlight, so if, as we have speculated, they use the shadows to communicate he wouldn't have been able to tell the others what he had discovered. He is silenced now, unless they commune with his shade."
Isabel finished cleaning her nails and dried her hands on a towel. Then her gaze locked with Alick's. "I need fresh air. Would you come outside and sit with me?"
"Aye." As if he could he refuse her anything. As they headed out the door he scooped up a blanket. Isabel picked a tree behind the lodge and Alick spread out the blanket. She sat in the middle and waited for him to join her. For some strange reason his palms were clammy, as though he were a young lad intent on his first seduction.
Internally his wolf paced. Events of the day made it anxious to protect its family and the creature's unrest flowed through Alick.
He resolved to let her decide how to proceed, and lay back. Overhead the green canopy filtered the light and it rippled and played over their bodies as Isabel nestled next to him. She was quiet in his arms, her head resting on his chest, lost in her own world.
Each passing hour that she was tolerant of him watered the small plant of hope unfurling in his gut. The hissing spitting cat who had once drawn a knife on him now curled up in his lap. What he would give for a million more such moments with her, to watch his hope grow into something as towering and solid as the oak that sheltered them.
"Do you want to talk about what happened? Is it the first time you have stabbed a man?" Sometimes his mouth wouldn't be as quiet as he wanted. But then, he knew what it was like to feel that first rush of a man's life force spilling over your hands. He didn't want this woman to suffer any regrets or doubts about her actions.
"I have stabbed a number of trees, walls, and even mannequins, but this was my first living person. Yet I find I am at peace with my course of action. I would do it again in defence of friend or family," she said against his shirt, gentle words that blew warmth over him.
"Good." He silently thanked God that she was a practical woman and he didn't have to deal with tears and sobbing. He'd much rather face the pointy end of her anger. Each day he realised his wolf was right, she was the perfect woman for him. He didn't expect the deep steady love that Hamish and Aster shared or the grand passion of Quinn and Ianthe. If only she would return a fraction of his affection for her and see him as a friend and companion, then he would be content.
Long minutes flowed with only the chirp of birds, distant bark of a dog, or soft rustle of leaves.
"I've been thinking," she said at length.
Three little words that shot terror through him and made his heart stutter.
"About who I am, who I want to become, and the life I want to lead," she continued.
Just when he thought things were looking sorted, a few simple words made a knot form in his gut. Doubt surged up his throat, and threatened to choke him. Some basic male instinct told him no good conversation with a woman ever started off with ‘I've been thinking.’ "Oh, aye."
She drew patterns on his shirt with a fingertip. "There are things I wish to do and to experience."
He wondered where this conversation was going. Why did women not just come out and say what they mean? Did she want to move on from slicing vegetables to learning more advanced knife skills, or could she mean something else entirely? He wanted to ask, but the part of him that didn't want to shatter the moment was yelling, be quiet, you fool! He made a noise in his throat instead; that way she could interpret it whichever way she wanted.
The finger drawing circles stopped and she laid her palm flat. "I want to experience physical things. With you."
He coughed as he nearly swallowed his tongue. His brain pointed out she probably didn't mean what those other parts of him really hoped she meant. The wolf sat up and was all ears. He had resolved himself to live with her friendship; could she really be seeking more? "Physical things? Like more boxing?"
She lifted her head to meet his gaze. "No. You have given me pleasure under… unusual circumstances. Now, there is a hunger deep inside me for more."
He might be slow but he was fast catching up, especially with the way her mouth rolled around the word more. He just hadn't been expecting that. The lass wanted to truly be his wife. His brain seemed to have stopped functioning and he couldn't answer. Even the wolf was dumbstruck and sat quiet.
"I promise not to knee you in the groin this time." Laughter danced in her eyes.
He stroked her long, dark hair and gathered his thoughts slowly. He didn't want to ruin this. He intended to keep his Izzy-Cat for life, if she would take him. "Before I make you truly mine, there is something else I would do first, if you are agreeable."
A frown flitted over her brow, but she waited for him to continue.
"I thought our wedding feast was a rather tense affair. No disrespect to your father, but his way is not the Highland way and the evening did not end as planned."
She snorted. Then a faint blush crept up under her shirt. Did she remember the end to that night? She must, since that evening lead to their current talk. He thought about her bare ars
e under his hand frequently. Not to mention their other encounter and the number of heated kisses he had stolen. The thought of claiming her body fully made him ache and the blood was rapidly draining from his overworked mind to a lower part of his anatomy. He needed to spit out his idea before he lost the ability to speak.
"But we're not in Scotland," she said, resting her chin on her hands so she could meet his gaze more easily.
He swallowed before saying the words that meant so much to him. A physical ache spread down his throat at voicing his darkest desire. It might seem arcane to some, but he valued the Highland ways, for that was the best part of him. That was the part he wanted to offer to her. "No, we're not in Scotland, but I would ask Hamish to perform a handfasting ceremony for us tonight."
She considered his offer, a serious look in her dark gaze. Would she refuse him?
"Yes, I would like that. I much prefer Mrs. Ferguson to Lady Isabel. Mrs. Ferguson leads a rather exciting life and has true friends that she would do anything to protect."
Alick thought he would explode with joy. Instead he rolled her under him and claimed her mouth in a languid and lavish kiss, using his lips to tell her all the things he didn't have the words, or courage, to say out loud. It was only his need to have Hamish perform the ceremony before he claimed her that roused him from under the tree to set events in motion.
The afternoon passed with a burst of activity that kept them all busy and stopped them from dwelling on the dead man now resting forever in a dark corner of the forest. They did discuss the risk to Aster. Hamish would not tolerate a threat to his wife and they agreed the time had come to move on. They would return to London and report to the war secretary that no evidence could be found against Balcairn. It stuck in all their throats to admit defeat when they were so close, but it didn't mean their mission was over. They would return to their regiment and fight the war on a different front.
As the afternoon lengthened, they built a fire and let it burn down to embers. The fat venison haunch roasted over the spit, with everyone taking turns at the handle to ensure the meat wasn't burned on one side. Hamish and Quinn moved a table outside and Sarah spread a bright cloth over it, before the women laid out a simple meal. Then, as the horizon darkened, the women all disappeared with a laughing Isabel.
Layers to Peel Page 19