Ianthe stroked Alice’s face, her brows pulled together and furrows on her forehead. “I just don’t want to ever see you hurt again.”
Alice smiled. “I know. But imagine if we can save other girls from what befell me. We both know Hoth was not the only demon in London. I will not stay tucked up here while such monsters prey on innocent women.”
“You are a beautiful avenging angel, and I wish you luck.” Ianthe kissed her and embraced her again.
Quinn gave her the gentle hug of an older brother. Then he whispered in her ear, “Believe in yourself, Alice. You are one of the strongest people I have ever met. Forge is no match for you.”
She smiled, unsure what to say, and then Quinn gave her a leg up onto the saddle. She dropped a hand to the saddlebags and patted the contents—her mortar and pestle and a bag with herbs. She had one change of dress and little need for anything else, but she was determined to ease Ewan’s pains.
A tiny part of her thought if she could only grow her gift strong enough, she could cure his wolf that lingered near death inside him. She had seen Quinn shift into his beast, and she longed to see Ewan’s powerful creature shake off the sickness and run free over the hills.
Alice settled in the saddle. Her brown plaid dress was made of plain, rough wool that would be able to withstand the harsh life they were about to lead. The skirt was fuller than what the fashionable set wore, and it allowed her to ride astride without exposing her whole leg. A large shawl could be wrapped around her upper body or used as a head scarf and would provide extra warmth. A battered bonnet of Sarah’s now sat at a crumpled angle on Alice’s head.
A pair of laced boots on her feet had nearly been the cause of an all-out battle. Alice liked to run barefoot through the fields and rarely wore shoes. Ianthe and Sarah insisted that if she were trekking across England in search of a traitorous vampyre, she simply had to wear boots. Alice sulked all afternoon, hiding in the barn with Eilidh, but had relented at length.
The clothes itched and she wore far too many layers after her life as a forest sprite dancing through the trees. She dimly recalled wearing expensive silk and the finest muslin when she had her brief time in the sun as a pampered courtesan. But now she knew only rough and dirty linen.
Their horses were as unremarkable as their clothing, the sort of lower class mounts that two down-on-their-luck types could afford. In deference to Ewan’ injury, they would ride to their destination as no one expected him to walk across England.
Alice wondered that they didn’t make do with the one horse. It wasn’t uncommon for the man to ride while the woman trudged behind, carrying a load.
“Why two horses? Isn’t that quite extravagant?” She wriggled her feet in the stirrups.
Ewan’s back straightened in the saddle and he arched one black brow. “Did you really think I would ride and watch you walk?”
No. From the little she knew of him, he didn’t seem to sort to let a woman trail behind his horse. Not unless there was a crowd of them and he was attempting to out-ride their pursuit.
“Are you ready?” Ewan picked up his reins in his left hand.
A bird doesn’t know if it can fly until it leaps from the nest. Alice drew a deep breath, nodded, and jumped from her proverbial nest.
Ewan put heel to his horse, and the placid gelding walked down the road. Alice’s mount followed as though an invisible rope tied the two together. Ewan waved once then kept his gaze on the middle distance. Alice turned in her saddle to watch the farmhouse and Ianthe until they both disappeared. It would always represent a safe haven to her, and she hoped they would return before too long.
Eilidh thought they embarked on a great adventure. She ran back and forth across the road, and when her little legs grew tired, Ewan picked her up to ride in front of Alice’s saddle.
It was nearly a hundred and fifty miles from Ianthe’s secluded farm in Northamptonshire to the small coastal town of Seabrook, just up the coast from Hythe in Kent. It would take them at least three days on the road to reach their destination. Days they would use to grow into their pretence of a married couple. It also allowed time for Alice to work on Ewan’s disguise as she practised concealing his handsome features.
To minimise how much magic she had to use, most of the disguise hinged on him embracing a scruffy appearance far removed from his usual immaculate grooming. He grumbled and scratched at the growth on his chin.
Alice wondered how he would cope after a few days on the road without bathing and had to suppress a laugh. “You know you cannot shave. You are supposed to look rough and dirty.”
He narrowed his gaze at her. “I hate it. It itches.”
“How long did it take you to dress when you were in London? I can’t believe I married such a dandy.” She rolled her eyes and giggled, then slapped a hand over her mouth. Where did that noise come from? There were days when her mosaic soul seemed lighter in Ewan’ presence and she could laugh.
He narrowed his eyes but stopped his hand as it was about to scratch his chin again. “You’d complain if I kissed you. Women prefer a clean shaven man, not one who leaves a rash on their skin.”
Why did he have to say that? It reminded her of Christmas night when she had tried to steal a kiss from him. Her heart raced a little faster and she stared at Eilidh as she imagined being the woman he swept into his arms and kissed. Alice remembered pleasure, and a man like Ewan Shaw knew exactly how to deliver it. She recalled the talk that swirled around the handsome cavalry officer and heard of the notes slipped from the hand of wealthy women into his pockets.
They rode all day with only occasional stops to spell their horses. Ewan set a hard pace and the light was fading before they decided to seek shelter for the night. They were far from any village or tavern, but spotted a rickety old barn just off the road for their first night alone.
They unsaddled the horses and let them loose in an overgrown yard. Alice found an old bucket and filled it with water from the well. Meanwhile, Ewan found a discarded sack and stuffed it with mouldy hay. Then he propped it up against the far wall inside the barn.
“Target practice,” he said when she asked. “We have time for a small amount before we lose the light.”
She threw the knife and Ewan made a campfire in the barn doorway. Eilidh stretched out by the flames and promptly went to sleep. Soon, the light faded and the target blurred into the wooden planks of the wall. Alice put away the blade and sat by Ewan on the ground. He had unrolled their blankets and laid them close to the fire, but inside the barn in case of rain.
They ate a cold meal of bread, cheese, and meat that Ianthe had packed for them, and Ewan tossed slivers of beef to Eilidh.
“You are quite turning her head,” Alice said. The little terrier was becoming devoted to Ewan and her ears pricked up whenever she heard his voice or slightly uneven tread.
Ewan tore the last piece of meat in half then popped one piece into his mouth and held out the remainder to the dog. “It is the wolf way, to share all we have with the pack.”
“Are we your pack, Ewan?” Alice’s heart constricted. Pack held connotations that seemed as strong as family.
“We are for this journey.” He tossed another piece of wood onto the fire.
Dark soon descended, and there was little to do except watch the flames dancing in their small fire. When Alice lay down on the rich smelling hay, she could watch the stars through the holes in the barn roof.
“How we have both fallen from being fêted as London’s darlings,” Ewan murmured from beside her.
Alice didn’t miss those days. She preferred the silence of a forest and the protective embrace of an ancient tree to a noisy assembly room. “I would far rather have stars over my head than any painted ceiling.”
“What made you seek your fortune in London?” His voice was quiet in the dark.
So many things were softly spoken between them. Whispers of secrets were passed back and forth as glimpses into their broken souls that would never be shown to
anyone else.
Alice smiled at long ago memories. It didn’t seem like a lifetime ago, it seemed like someone else’s life entirely. As though she read the tale of that doomed young woman in a book. “There are few employment prospects for the daughters of witches. Society applauds mages, but the mage blooded are as welcome as bastard offspring.”
He exhaled a deep breath. “Mage-blooded or Unnatural, we are all rejected by society. Parliament only recently gave us the same rights as other British citizens. Until the Unnatural Act passed in 1812, we were less than human under the law, cursed creatures to be hunted and shunned. Although not burned at the stake like your predecessors. ”
There was an intimacy to lying beside Ewan, gazing at the midnight sky above as she continued to narrate her downfall. “If I am not too bold in saying so, I was a somewhat charming girl, but also a practical one. After mother died, I set out to capitalise on the best asset I possessed—myself. I intended to use my gift to find a wealthy patron, live in a lavish townhouse, and have servants.”
“Sometimes our plans go awry.” His voice dropped in tone.
Alice found comfort in Ewan, but no pity. What had happened could not be undone. Not even the most powerful mage could reverse time, and there was no benefit in dwelling on past events, wishing things had unfolded differently.
“Indeed. My plans went awry. I thought Viscount Hoth the answer to my prayers, but he turned out to be a nightmare in disguise.”
But the demon taught her a lesson. Never again would a man, mage, or Unnatural hurt her.
“What of you, Ewan? What was the dashing cavalry officer doing in London, and how did you become a lycanthrope?” She was curious how he came to walk a path like hers.
“I was an officer in the Scots Greys, but we languished on home duty. I made my own excitement by volunteering for confidential assignments. Charming, wealthy, older women allowed me access to a number of conspiracies and secrets crammed into the parlours of London. My captain and I were approached about being the first of a new regiment to be made of Unnaturals who would fight for England on foreign soil. All I had to do was hold still while a crazed beast tore half my throat out.”
“Why would you volunteer for that?” It sounded horrible and gruesome. What man would sign up for such a fate . . . but then what woman would blindly agree to belong to a soul eater?
“Because I sought escape.” He fell silent and said no more.
What extremes they had taken to escape their situations. They lay side by side and watched the stars twinkle above. Alice thought it would be impossible to sleep with his body so close to hers. But at some point exhaustion crept up on her and whisked her away to slumber.
The next thing she knew, Eilidh’s wet nose pressed into her cheek. She opened her eyes on the faintest blush of pink chasing the stars away as another day dawned.
12
Ewan
* * *
Days on the road would make the most placid person grumpy. It wasn’t the time in the saddle that ate at Ewan, for he was used to long hours on horseback. But the itch between his shoulder blades nearly made him lose his temper. Blasted clothes probably had fleas or lice. Quinn would have thought it highly amusing to purchase infected attire for the mission. Even in wolf form, Ewan was fastidiously clean and spent as much time grooming his fur as a bored house cat. He longed for a hot bath and a stout brush to scrub himself clean.
This particular mission couldn’t be over soon enough for him. Then the clothes would be tossed on a bonfire, and he would run naked to the closest bath house and barber. He cast a sideways glance at Alice. The woman never complained or uttered a cross word. She simply bore everything without complaint.
Guilt gnawed at his insides. He had tried to escape his heritage and didn't want to become a hard man like his father who would push a woman too far. Or worse, did Alice feel unable to complain, afraid of his reaction? The fragile woman had never spent so long in the saddle, and each time they stopped, she clung to the neck of her horse to slowly lower herself to the ground.
She caught his gaze and smiled. “Stop fretting about me. My bottom went numb the first day and I haven’t felt anything since.”
He shook his head. Her appearance fooled him. She was nowhere near as fragile as she looked. As she’d said, she was the spider web that appeared delicate but could hold a struggling insect fast. “I’m sorry for the pace of our journey, but we should make Hythe today.”
“I know this is no relaxed jaunt. I won’t break down on you or dissolve into tears.” She rode with a weary smile and her hands held the reins limply. Not that there was a need to direct her mount—it mimicked Ewan’s horse in pace and direction.
Her lack of complaint worried him. She would say nothing as he drove her into the ground. If a woman didn’t give a man limits, how did he know when he pushed too far? There was something for him to mull over as they rode. Even Eilidh was subdued. The dog rode with her mistress more often than not as the terrier’s seemingly boundless energy hit its limit.
Finally, their hard pace was rewarded when Hythe, the small coastal market town on the edge of the Romney Marsh, appeared in the distance. Cottages and houses appeared at more regular intervals on both sides of the road. People walked, rode, or drove carts around them.
“Hythe,” Alice murmured. “Ianthe said it means ‘haven’, or ‘landing place’. I wonder which it will prove to be.”
Ewan halted by a large tree that offered dappled sunlight. Alice had worked a low level enchantment to change his hair from pitch black to a dark brown and his eyes to a similarly muddy hue. She also added flesh to his lean, muscled form. It shocked him the first time he stared into water and a stranger stared back. “Why would you marry such an ugly fat brute?” he had asked her.
“Since it is my working, I can see through it.” She looked at him so intensely he wondered if she didn’t see right through him to the wounded wolf cowering in his gut. “Don’t forget it will wear off over the course of the day. I do not have the ability to make it last longer.”
Her claims to simply smudge his edges were more effective than he thought. His own mother wouldn’t recognise him now. “I need to see my contact first. Why don’t you wait here with Eilidh? I won’t be more than an hour.”
The town was a mishmash of medieval and Georgian buildings, overlooked by a Norman church perched on the hill. The picturesque place even boasted a charming seafront promenade. The fortunate town had benefited from the war with France. The Royal Military Canal was constructed as a defence and brought much-needed employment and capital to the area.
Ewan left Alice and the terrier sitting under a tree and walked to a cottage on the edge of town. He identified it by its white picket fence that had one grey picket, a signal that the occupant used to be a member of the Scots Grey, Ewan’s former regiment.
Ewan exchanged only the minimum number of words with the man who opened the door. Enough passed to identify himself, then the retired soldier fetched a letter for Ewan and shut his door again.
As he walked back along the road, Ewan opened the letter and scanned the contents. The excise man knew of several smuggling gangs operating along the Kent coastline. Most brought in the usual smuggled spirits, but one group had dark rumours swirling about it, even for a band of smugglers.
A drunk local muttered one night of his boss having an unnatural appetite for blood. His drinking buddies scoffed, but next day he was found dead on the beach with an ugly neck wound and his body drained of blood.
Ewan tucked the letter into his jacket and returned to Alice. “We are nearly at our destination. We only need to ride about another three miles up the coast towards Seabrook. We’re looking for a tavern called the Dancing Sow.”
The tavern was where the dead man had been drinking before he met his fate, and it was where Ewan would start his search.
Forge had been an odd man even when alive. He preferred to frequent the lowest class of tavern he could find, preferably the sort f
ull of cutthroats and thieves. By contrast, vampyres were known as French dandies with their love of fashion and the high life. Did stilling his heart give Forge a new taste for luxurious living, or would he stick to his old proclivities?
The tavern they sought was far enough from Hythe to offer seclusion but not too far that it would affect distributing contraband to other counties. It was the sort of quiet location ideal for smuggling in a magical weapon to use against the British on home soil. The problem with the monstrosities created by the mages was spotting them. The weapon was unlikely to be a large and unwieldy cannon or a type of land battleship. It could be something tiny and unassuming like buttons for men’s clothes or the pitcher used to pour your ale.
Alice picked up the dog and placed her in front of the saddle before hauling herself back up. “At the risk of pandering to your cleanliness obsession, I do find myself longing for a hot bath.”
Ewan laughed. “Watch out, you’ll be hankering for clean clothes next.”
His body ached as though he had travelled through the bowels of Hell, and he suspected Alice hurt just as bad with muscles unused to days in the saddle. A bath was a fine idea, except the sort of establishment they were seeking probably wouldn’t have one on offer.
It took hardly any time to make Seabrook and they soon found the tavern, a two-storeyed building with a Tudor whitewashed façade and thatched roof. A pig dancing a jig graced the sign swinging over the front door, the paint faded from years of rough weather rolling off the ocean.
The smoke curling from the tavern’s chimneys could have appeared warm and welcoming, but this establishment had an aura of neglect. The whitewash was long overdue a repaint and the walls were sooty and grey with dirt. The small windows were dim and lined with grime and gave no clue of what lay inside. The bare dirt yard around the inn looked like it would turn to mud with the lightest rain. Chickens scratched through the dirt and a mangy cat stalked behind them.
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