Souls to Heal

by Tilly Wallace

  “Some might call this witchcraft, but I would call it the application of anatomical knowledge. You are a woman of hidden talents.” He watched her constantly, at times his gaze unreadable, showing nothing of what he gleamed from his observations.

  “If I were a man, I might have studied medicine. A mage-blooded physician would be greatly sought after. As a woman, I use my gifts to get by, although it has not worked out quite as planned.” She had thought her looks and ability to find lost items would secure a wealthy patron who would eventually offer her marriage and security.

  She had found a wealthy patron all right, and ended with her mind in shreds. She should have stayed in the village and taken over her mother’s role when she died, but she had yearned to see London. She had reached for more like a greedy child, and life had punished her for it.

  Ewan lifted his left hand and tucked a strand of hair back behind her ear. “What happened to you, Alice, after we rescued you from Bedlam?”

  The unexpected contact made her flinch, but not from fear. A man touching her usually provoked her fear response, but not this man. Why did her body want to press against him rather than shy away?

  A wolf protects you, the old mage had whispered.

  Alice shook her head to dispel the thoughts clogging up her mind. “Aunt Maggie took me to Scotland to see an old mage, to seek her help in finding the scattered pieces of my soul.”

  He huffed a gentle laugh. It seemed everyone knew of the formidable Aunt Maggie. “And what did the mage say?”

  When Alice thought of Scotland, it seemed a dream. A misty place pierced by silver light and where the veil between worlds dropped. The mage had studied her palm and told her future. She had whispered of a great love, sacrifice, and the potential paths Alice could walk.

  “She said there was nothing wrong with me and that the fractures in my soul allowed me to see the world more clearly.” Alice picked up the heavy silver necklace around her neck. The wolf’s head was about two inches in diameter. Its mouth was open and tiny fangs were exposed as though it howled at the moon. “The mage gave me this necklace then left me to roam, to seek my missing pieces in the heather and valleys.”

  His gaze flicked down to the emblem of his regiment cast in silver and then back up to her face. “Do you see the world more clearly, Alice?”

  She met his intense stare. The blue pierced through her, and he saw all her secrets. But it was a two-way process; in stripping her bare, she likewise saw all of him. She saw what he sought to conceal from others. “When you are broken, it gives you the ability to see the cracks in the façades of others. Will you teach me how you do it? How you shut everything away and don’t feel.”

  He continued to search her eyes and then he looked down to where her hands rested on his arm. “Is that what you want, to no longer feel?”

  She wanted to live, to free herself from the dark box where Hoth had imprisoned her. Alice longed to feel the warmth of the sunshine in her bones again. But all her emotions were exposed and raw and everything hurt. “It’s so loud in my mind, as though all my emotions are screaming at once. And it’s exhausting. Every day I battle constant noise, pain, and pressure. I don’t know how much more I can take.”

  She screwed up her eyes against the tears. Lord, it hurt to simply exist. Despair tainted every breath and burned in her lungs. There were days she wished she hadn’t survived Hoth’s attentions. Perhaps she should have let him whittle away her soul until eternal sleep claimed her.

  Ewan cleared his throat. “You need to build a place that is safe. Furnish it with things that comfort you. Reinforce the walls with stone and steel until nothing can reach you inside. That is your sanctuary. When life becomes too much, retreat to that room and shut the door. Trust that the walls will hold against the barrage.”

  She thought for a moment, pondering his words. That made a kind of sense. To escape Hoth, she had hidden herself. Except that she had closed the door and shut the monsters in with her, and this time she needed to leave them out in the cold.

  “Eilidh. Firstly, my room would contain Eilidh.” The terrier’s ears pricked up on being mentioned. Her silver head cocked to one side as she listened to her mistress talk. “She is my protector.”

  He nodded. “Good. But she needs to be bigger. Imagine Eilidh as a mighty dragon. With thick leather scales that can repel any barb or knife, her breath molten flame that coats your enemies until they dissolve into ash before you.”

  “No. Not a dragon, but a wolf to stand guard.” Ever since Quinn had thrust the squirming puppy into her arms, she had known her salvation resided in the dog. The few quiet moments her soul found were when she touched Eilidh. Her light. Only the terrier eased her burden and lit the dark. She assumed that was the hidden meaning in the necklace, that it resembled the terrier’s true character.

  Now, sitting beside this man, she wasn’t so sure.

  She continued to work on Ewan’s arm in silence, broken only by their steady breathing. Then she declared herself satisfied. “That’s all for today. But you need to remind the hand how it should function.”

  Alice pulled a ball from her apron pocket and Eilidh whined. Alice kept the ball to throw for the dog, but now it would be used for a different purpose. She placed it in Ewan’s palm and bent his fingers around it. “Carry this with you, practice squeezing and releasing around the ball. That will work the muscles and tendons in your fingers and forearm.”

  When he tried to do as she said, his fingers quivered and slid along the ball. “It feels a little better already, but I suspect you will be a hard taskmistress. I have not forgotten my part of the bargain. We can start now if you want, out in the yard.”

  “But what of your leg?” There was little she could do about the bullet lodged in the bone, but there were herbal infusions that would ease the pain. Alice had a limited herb supply. In her mind, she made a list of plants she needed to procure to aid his recovery. In spring, she could plant a much better range, assuming Ianthe could help her source the seed. Although he would be gone by then, off to Woolwich and the mages’ tower.

  He unrolled his shirtsleeve and buttoned the cuff. “My hand is the main concern. A limp can be dashing in the right circumstances, but no one wants a useless hand.”

  Alice rose and washed the oil from her hands at the sink. “Very well, let us begin my transformation into a blade by teaching me how to wield one.”

  6

  Ewan

  * * *

  As Christmas approached, Ewan settled into life with the people he regarded as family by choice, not blood. Although technically he and Quinn shared the same lycanthrope blood, making them wolf brothers. Quinn only had leave for three months, and he and Ianthe busied themselves with the horses and spring plans for Galahad before he had to return to their regiment. Ewan spent the early mornings with Alice’s quiet company as she massaged his arm.

  In the afternoons, they worked with knives. At first, he drilled her in simply handling a knife. She became familiar with the different types of blade and the weight and balance in her hand. When the weather kept them inside, Ewan made Alice slice vegetables faster and finer, which brought an amused sparkle to her eyes.

  He was satisfied she had good basic skills, so today he would start teaching her to throw with one of his lightweight blades. The weather smiled on them and the sun cast a watery glow over everything, but the temperature was still bitterly cold with the threat of snow in the air. They stood in the sheltered enclave between hill, house, and barn. On the back wall of the barn (and well away from any livestock) Ewan drew chalk circles nestled within one another.

  “There are two main aims in throwing a knife: accuracy and getting it to stick in your target. We will start with stance and a relaxed body. You want to hold the knife tight enough that it doesn’t leave your hand too early, but not so tight your fingers cramp.” That made him smile at the irony of his permanently cramped hand, although he had noticed the smallest improvements since Alice had begun her ma
ssages and exercises.

  He held the knife in his left hand and pointed to the chalk circles. “Imagine where you want the knife to end up. Visualise it penetrating your target. When you throw, you want to release with your arm extended at the target.”

  He stepped behind her and placed the knife in her right hand. Even through the thick wool coats they wore, his body tingled with awareness of her. On instinct he inhaled, breathing in her lavender scent and, wolf-like, letting it linger over his tongue. Under the chains of injury and magic, his wolf roused enough to urge him closer. The creature lifted its head to share the taste that filtered through Ewan’s body.

  Ewan reminded himself he had a task to complete as he corrected Alice’s stance and grip. Then he took her arm in his hand and, in slow motion, showed her how to move her body. Over and over, they mimed throwing the knife.

  “Your body needs to learn the feel, weight, and movement until it becomes second nature. Now you try.” He stepped back, giving her room.

  She drew back her arm and threw. The wood gave a soft thud as it was kissed by metal. The blade jutted inside the first chalk circle. Alice had a natural ability with a knife. Ewan had observed a curious phenomenon about women. Most men thought them weak, yet they often showed themselves to be the far more dangerous sex of any species. A woman with soft eyes, lush lips, and six inches of steel was an irresistible—and fatal—predator.

  His wolf made another feeble attempt to struggle against its thick bonds. The creature stirred when Alice was near, as though she could free it from the magic holding it prisoner. The sight of her face or sound of her voice roused it from its poisoned stupor. At night Ewan whispered her name simply to prod the beast and reassure himself it still dwelt within him.

  In the New Year, he would have to venture to Woolwich. He worried that if he delayed too long, the silver might irreversibly damage his wolf. While Ewan found elements of the beast distasteful, it was still a part of him. Perhaps even the better half of him, since the wolf understood the bonds of friendship and family on a deeper level than he could ever grasp.

  He rubbed his chin, and the stubble returned his thoughts to more human concerns. He managed an adequate job with his left hand, but it was far from the smooth feel of a really close shave. “Good. Again.”

  Just as Alice was ruthless with her massages and demanding the tendons stretch and yield, so he was a demanding teacher. If she wanted to protect herself, the knife needed to be an extension of her body, as natural to her as using her own hand. He drilled her for over an hour, until her arm began to flag. Never once did she complain or ask to stop.

  She simply obeyed.

  A chill crept down his spine. Her submission was unsettling, and he didn’t want to supplant Hoth in her nightmares.

  “That’s enough for today. Is it possible to have a bath around here?” His skin itched and his cravats needed more starch. Rural life and a broken body were Hell on his grooming routine.

  Alice’s green eyes widened and then she laughed, a sweet, tinkling noise that made him smile in response. “I believe we could muster up a bath for you, Captain.”

  Then the woman had the nerve to salute. As their days together turned into weeks, Alice grew accustomed to him. The skittish horse settled and shook itself loose. In the growing familiarity between them, he spied a mischievous streak. Only when she was most at ease did Alice laugh or smile. The first time Ianthe heard her soft laugh, the woman nearly cried with relief.

  “The first in nearly two years together. What a gift for this Christmas,” Ianthe had whispered with tears shimmering in her eyes.

  To think Alice had endured years without a smile to grace her face or laughter to stroke her throat. At moments like this, he wondered how she bore it. His physical injuries seemed easier by comparison to the emotional scars she carried. Or it might be the thought of feeling so much that mortified him. He had built his reputation on feeling nothing, and only the pain from his body reminded him that he was alive.

  Alice found Quinn, and he carried the tin bath from the shed into the kitchen. Ewan watched and pretended to stare at his fingernails while inside he berated himself for being too useless to assist. Once he had been as dashing and capable as Quinn. He might be again one day, if he could strip himself naked before the mages.

  They set the tin bath on the slate floor in front of the range, then Alice filled large pots with water and set them to boil on the hot plates. Even better than the anticipated bath, Ewan had talked Ianthe’s man, Perkins, into giving him a shave. He sat at the kitchen table while the man wielded a cutthroat razor with an expert hand.

  Fortunately, Perkins was the ideal retainer who spoke very little. There was no need for conversation, not that Ewan wanted his Adam’s apple bobbing as the steel ran over his jugular. The silence left him time to contemplate his future.

  What would he do with his life now the army had no use for him? An injured wolf unable to change form was a liability to his regiment. The Royal Arsenal only wanted him as a curiosity to experiment on. They couldn’t even chain him up as a zoological exhibit with his wolf incapacitated.

  He would only stay with Ianthe and Quinn for a little longer before he journeyed south. If the mages failed in their task, he couldn’t stomach the idea of going cap in hand to beg for charity from his brother, the baron. Not that he could ever darken the door of his ancestral home anyway; his brother had banished him some years ago.

  To avoid resting false hope on the mages, Ewan thought it better to assume it wouldn’t work and figure out an alternative. As he considered his options, he found himself without direction, occupation, or an immediate source of funds. Although he had some small investments, thanks to the generosity of grateful patrons, they would not last indefinitely.

  As much as he hated to admit it, he was going to need a job.

  He had spoken to no one about his fears or concerns for the future. Not even Hamish, his closest friend, for to do so would be to expose his vulnerabilities and flaws. Hamish was confident the mages would extract the bullet and silver from Ewan’s body and that he would return to his regiment, and the war, hale and hearty.

  Perkins wiped Ewan’s face with a heated towel. “All done, Captain.”

  He opened his eyes, ran his good hand over his chin, and then sighed. Better than any shave he’d had in London. “You’re a true craftsman, Perkins. Thank you.”

  “I know someone in the village with a light touch with starch and an iron. I’ll take your cravats in when we go for supplies after Christmas.” The conversation was a positive soliloquy from the stoic Perkins. Never had Ewan heard him speak for so long. He certainly wouldn't turn down the offer of a proper laundress.

  “Ianthe doesn’t pay you enough, Perkins, and you are wasted on Quinn. I swear if I make it rich, I shall come back here and woo you away to civilisation.”

  The older man snorted a laugh and waved his towel. Quinn was a lost cause, more puppy than wolf. Whatever his form, his hair or fur resembled an unruly hedge and he hated anything around his neck. Perkins needed an employer who appreciated his skill and care.

  Which led Ewan in a full circle back to analysing his future.

  “Bath is ready,” Alice said. She poured the last steaming pot into the water. “We’ll leave you in privacy.”

  “Could throw the pup in after,” Perkins muttered under his breath as he packed away his shaving kit.

  Ewan bit back a laugh. He would pay to see them attempt to wrangle Quinn into a bath. He had spent years on the road with the man, and he was more likely to jump into a freezing cold horse trough than a comfortable bath.

  The door closed behind Perkins and Alice. Only once alone did Ewan begin the slow process of removing his clothes. His left hand did most of the work while his right got in the way. Eventually, he had a neat pile over the back of a chair and he climbed into the slipper-shaped tub.

  He leaned back and let the heat seep into his bones. Lord, it felt good, and the ache in his leg sett
led. He flexed and released his right hand. Each day, it moved a fraction further or seemed a tiny bit less stiff.

  He ducked under the water and washed his hair. Then, with his ablutions done, he closed his eyes and dozed while the steam curled around him. Instead of considering his lack of prospects for the future, he found himself mulling over a far more pleasant puzzle. One with green eyes, sun bleached hair, and skin the golden hue of honey.

  Alice fascinated him. She was a book and he had to keep turning the pages to read what would happen next. He skimmed her early chapters, for they held no interest for him. Fresh, vibrant, and joyful when she arrived on the scene in London, that Alice was too innocent and too full of life for him. He had taken a bet against her, judging how long before the gilded lights of London would tarnish for her and she would grow jaded like the other courtesans.

  Never could he have envisaged how terribly events would unfold.

  The girl had grown into a woman tangled in tragedy that added spice to her story. He watched, mesmerised, as she sought to rebuild herself. Shadows and secrets lurked in her gaze that he was determined to know. Every flinch or shudder roused his anger at Hoth and increased his need to see her, if not healed, then in a state that gave her contentment.

  He told himself it was merely the deep-rooted protective instincts of the wolf. That he would watch over any woman or innocent so cruelly treated by life. But he knew himself for a liar.

  Alice was different.

  He would help her transform into an angel of vengeance. In his musings, he stood at her side to always protect and watch over her as she was released on London. Only with Alice could he imagine returning to the glittering salons and endless parties, because he wanted to see her stalk monsters like Hoth and deliver justice for women with no voices.

  Christmas dinner was a raucous affair spent in the kitchen. Ewan had thought they would dine in the dark and dusty dining room at the back of the farmhouse. He’d forgotten this wasn’t a grand home with servants waiting to do their bidding. There was also something about the warm kitchen, as though it were the embodiment of the comfort these people gave him.