A croak of sorts escaped Alex’s throat, and he swallowed repeatedly.
“Under the circumstances,” Gent mused out loud, watching the cousins fondly, “I think I’d better remove myself from the tentative position of godfather when you christen the lad, and offer the position to Trace here, would you agree?”
Gabe grinned, still staring at Alex. “It’s all right with me. Alex?”
“I can’t,” he managed. “I can’t take that from you, Gent.”
“Oh, I have no doubt that Amelia will give Rogue plenty more children,” Gent assured him, shrugging easily. “I’ll be in for one of them, I’m sure.”
Rook made a face. “I’m not sure Amelia would appreciate that turn of phrase, Gent. Giving Rogue something, let alone children. She might take offense for that, and you know what that means.” He shivered and made a face.
Alex forced his emotions aside and looked at the rest of them, his delight feeling strange and foreign to him.
“Tell me everything, lads. I want to hear it all. But please, for the love of God, tell me all about this Amelia, the daughter of Eagle, and how Gabe was still alive when it came time to marry her.”
Chapter Eight
Dawn did not feel any better than dusk had, but there was nothing for it. Poppy had work to see to, and no emotional upheaval could prevent that.
Perhaps they had all disappeared in the night and she could get back to her quiet life. Somehow, she doubted things would be that simple.
Steeling herself, brushing off her skirt, and patting her hair carefully, she strode out of her bedroom, fixing a polite smile on her face.
Except the kitchen was completely empty.
She frowned, propping her hands on her hips, looking around. They had certainly cleaned up well, everything neat and tidy, possibly even more so than it had been before, which was more than she could say for the times when she’d had her hired help in the kitchen. At least her house was still in one piece, and they hadn’t created additional work for her.
Still, she hadn’t forgiven Alex, or any of them, for the revelations of last night. She would need a great deal of time, and some more information and understanding, which would prove difficult if everyone were gone.
She looked in Alex’s bedroom, but that, too, was empty.
A faint whistle met her ears, and she looked out the window where Stanton was leading two horses from the barn.
Well, at least one of them was here.
Poppy shook her head and marched out of the cottage, walking quickly out to the farm.
“Stanton!” she called, forcing her tone to be calm and unaffected.
He turned back to her, smiling as she approached. “Miss Edgewood.”
“Where’s Alex?” she asked without preamble. “He’s not in his bed, and we didn’t change his dressings.”
“I changed them this morning,” Stanton assured her. “Everything is healing very well.”
Poppy huffed and shook her head. “Where is he, Stanton?”
His mouth curved, and he pointed towards the field. “Out there with the rest of them, working on the harvest.”
He was what?
“He can’t be harvesting!” Poppy protested. “He’ll tear the skin right open with all of the motion, and out here in the fields with dust and grass and who knows what else… And he’ll be sweating… Stanton, what were you thinking?” She shook her head at him and picked up her skirt, practically running for the lower fields.
She might be furious with him, but that didn’t mean she wanted him to spend whatever reserves he’d built up in her fields and then drop dead in them. She’d have to take care of him all over again, and she didn’t know if she could manage that with the same fierceness as before.
Or with the same patience.
She paused at the head of the field, her brow furrowing at the sight that met her eyes.
The men they had hired to help with the harvest were there, working steadily, but so were Alex and each of the men that had come last night. They all looked the same in their dark trousers and plain linen shirts, and they worked in an almost perfect synchrony. Scythes moved fluidly in the fields, slicing easily through the crops, and the arms that wielded them were sure and steadfast. At this rate, they would be finished with the harvest far sooner than she’d ever expected, or than she’d ever managed before.
There was no way she could pay all of them for the work they were doing, but she’d have to find some way to make this worth their efforts.
She watched them all for a very long moment, unable to move for the longest time.
Each of the men worked hard, and none of them complained about the tasks they were engaged in. However, none of the others worked as hard as Alex.
He moved twice as fast as the others, his strokes swifter, his efforts more aggressive. His shirt rapidly dampened despite the chill of the morning, and the material seemed to strain over his slender frame, despite the discrepancy in size. His features were just as strained, something hard and almost frantic in them. It worried Poppy to see him like this, to see some unseen force driving him into this sort of madness.
Or, in his case, some horror.
She shook her head slowly and started forward, only to have her arm caught gently.
Poppy turned to see Weaver there, a knowing look in his eye.
“Leave him be, Miss Edgewood,” Weaver said, tilting his head towards Alex. “He needs this.”
She scowled at the man. “He’s not strong enough to be working like this.”
His hold on her arm remained. “I think Trace will surprise you, ma’am.”
“I don’t know Trace,” she said pointedly, pulling her arm out of his hold. “Apparently, I don’t even know Alex, but I do know that man over there is badly injured, and not just physically, and it concerns me that no one else sees it.”
“Oh, we see it, Miss Edgewood,” Weaver told her, not at all concerned by her coolness toward him. “More than that, I think we understand it.”
“Maybe so,” she conceded, “but you’re not the one who will have to tend him if he’s worse after this.”
Weaver folded his arms and gave her a thorough look, smiling slightly. “If he is worse, I will personally sit by his bedside all night and tend him like he is an ailing grandmother.”
Poppy returned the look, finally softening, sensing this man cared for Alex in a way beyond simply professional. “I may take you up on that, Weaver.”
He grinned briefly at that. “Do me a favor, Miss Edgewood. Call me Fritz. You’re not a spy, you don’t need to call me by the codename.”
“Are you sure?” Poppy asked with a raised brow. “I’m not well versed in the spy etiquette, but your identity seems to be an important thing to protect.”
Fritz leaned forward slightly. “Are you planning on telling anyone that I’m a spy called Weaver, but my real name is Fritz?”
That made Poppy giggle in spite of herself. “No, of course not.”
He nodded once. “Then, I am sure you may call me Fritz.” He looked over at Alex, and so did she.
Alex had been working hard without speaking to anyone, not even his cousin, who toiled just as silently beside him.
“I’m worried about him, Fritz,” Poppy murmured as they watched. “I can’t even say why. Yes, he’s injured, but it’s more than that. He’s so changed…”
“Honestly, I’m worried, too,” Fritz admitted with a frown. “Trace was one of our best. I’d never seen anything like him, and I’ve been doing this a long time. He always had a potent vitality about him, something that made him seem invincible. Larger than life.”
“Yes,” Poppy whispered, tears filling her eyes, surprising her. “It was one of the reasons I couldn’t believe Alex was dead for the longest time. He just couldn’t die. He couldn’t.”
Fritz nodded and patted Poppy’s arm softly. “Exactly. I never stopped trying to find the truth, couldn’t believe in my heart that he was gone… Turns out we were both right
, but…”
“But how much of him is left?” Poppy finished absently.
“I thought we’d get some more information last night,” Fritz sighed, sliding his hands into his pockets, “but he’s more damaged than I thought, and he needs time to heal, so we spent the evening trying to brighten things up, if reminding him of what he missed can brighten things.”
Poppy nodded to herself. “I did the same thing yesterday, in a way. We talked about friends and acquaintances we had in our youth, and for a few hours, it was as if my Alex was back with me. And yet…” She trailed off and looked up at Fritz for help. “How long until he is his old self?”
Fritz made an amused sound, though she sensed there was no humor in it. “I don’t believe he is going to be his old self again, Miss Edgewood. At any time. In the kindest sense, I think you need to stop looking for that.”
She had been afraid of that, but she’d also known somehow that it would be the case. Alex was too changed, had endured too much, had lost too much of himself to be the man she knew.
She knew it, but she felt something crack in her heart now as she accepted it.
“Then when will he be healed?” she asked Fritz, a hitch in her voice as she asked.
Fritz shook his head and tsked. “That, I’m afraid, is a much more complicated question to answer.”
“Which means?” she prodded.
He grinned. “I haven’t the faintest idea.” He sobered and exhaled slowly. “It will take a long time, Miss Edgewood. A very, very long time, I’m afraid.”
Poppy had suspected that, too, and she looked up at him with a scowl. “Are all spies as filled with doom and gloom as you are, Fritz? Or as maddening?”
“Usually, as it happens,” he quipped with another nod. “I’m actually one of the more pleasant and optimistic ones.”
“Oh, good,” she muttered, brushing her hands on her skirts again. “Then it will be delightful to have you all around for a bit.”
“At least for the harvest, Miss Edgewood,” he assured her. “We’ve given you more trouble than we meant, and the least we can do is help get the harvest in. And I think we’re repairing your barn, mending the fence, and anything else you need.”
Poppy gaped up at him. “You don’t need to do that, Fritz! I have Stanton, and there are others…”
Fritz silenced her with a look. “You seem to think that you have a say in this, Miss Edgewood. And don’t think for a moment that Stanton isn’t putting us all through our paces.”
“I was under the impression that you were the superior to all these men,” Poppy said, smiling suspiciously.
“I try to tell them all that,” Fritz told her, his eyes wide with exasperation, “but they seem to forget at every waking moment.”
“Weaver!” Rook barked from further along the line. “Stop conversing with Miss Edgewood! You won’t get out of working the field that easily! I’ll make John Barry here come show you how it’s done in very great detail.”
Fritz rolled his eyes and gave Poppy a look. “Exhibit A, Miss Edgewood.”
Poppy giggled and stepped back. “I’ll leave you to it, then. I’ll go get water for everyone and see what I can do to help.”
“A rag in Rook’s mouth would help us all a great deal,” Fritz told her with a wink, turning back to his work.
Poppy laughed again and turned away, wondering at the men that were now helping her harvest, and apparently were planning to help with other things, though they truly didn’t owe her anything at all.
What were the ties that bound them all together? Spies for the Crown, and yet they were more like family than anything she’d seen, even in her own family. One of their brothers had come back from the dead, had been wounded beyond belief, and was in need, and they had come to be with him. He wanted to work in the fields, and they worked with him. He needed to heal, and they were giving him time.
But they were here.
Alex had all the support and strength in the world from them.
Would it be enough?
“Trace, come on, take a rest.”
“There’s more to be done.”
“There will always be more to be done. You need to rest.”
“I’m not used to rest. Rest makes you weak. Rest makes you slow. Rest means…”
“Alex, stop.”
Alex stilled at the soft command from Cap, knowing better than to do otherwise. He hadn’t been a spy in years, but it appeared that some instincts were more deeply engrained than he thought.
“I can’t, Cap,” Alex rasped, glancing over at his superior and friend. “I can’t. Pas de repose jusqu’à la mort.”
“No rest until death?” Cap repeated in English. “Is that what you’ve been trained to say?”
“Trained to believe,” Alex grunted as he went back to harvesting. “Trained to repeat. Trained to obey.”
All the time. Every time. Or it was lash after lash upon his back while he worked, as if that could make him work faster, harder, or better. He hadn’t rested during work for as long as he could remember.
He couldn’t stop.
Couldn’t.
Cap exhaled sharply. “Alex, it’s over. That’s all over. You have a choice now. You can choose to stop.”
“I can’t,” Alex insisted. “I can’t.”
A heavy hand fell on his shoulder and gripped hard. “Then obey me now. Stop.”
Alex’s lungs constricted on a faint gasp, and the scythe fell from his hands, rustling the wheat beneath it. He hunched over, bracing his elbows on his knees as he panted hard, finally feeling the weakness and pain the day’s activities were bringing him. Every single rib ached, his left arm seemed heavier than his right, his legs shook, and his head swam.
If he hadn’t stopped, he wouldn’t have known.
That was how this had always worked for him.
Cap’s hand gripped harder. “Come on, Trace. We need a drink and a rest.”
“Don’t call me Trace,” Alex begged as he straightened. “I’m not Trace. Not anymore. I’m not anything.”
“Alex,” Cap corrected, keeping his hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Come on.”
He pulled Alex away from his work, keeping his hand on his shoulder and pressing firmly against him.
That pressure was the only thing steadying Alex at the moment.
“Why are you all here?” Alex asked hoarsely, swallowing. “Why come?”
Cap gave him a bewildered look. “Are you serious? The moment we discovered you were alive, none of us could rest until we had figured out how to save you.”
“No one saved me,” Alex replied bitterly. “Not even…” He trailed off, shaking his head.
“We didn’t know, Alex,” Cap murmured. “We couldn’t know.”
“I know that, Cap,” he hissed, his eyes burning. “I don’t blame you. You thought I was dead. I should have been dead. I knew it every day I was in that hold, every time I was lashed or flayed, every time they questioned me… I knew I was dead; I just couldn’t seem to die.”
Cap took a deep breath and released it shakily. “Saints above, Alex…”
“There are no saints above or below,” Alex muttered. “I know. I prayed to each and every one I knew.”
“Alex…”
“I am grateful to have you all here,” he went on. “I am. But I’ll also be grateful to see the backs of you as you leave me in peace.”
Cap stopped by the bucket of drinking water, taking a ladleful and drinking deeply, then offered it to Alex. “Understood.”
Alex took the ladle, giving his friend a curious look. “Really? Just like that?”
“Absolutely,” came the calm reply. “You’ve been through hell, and our being here must be a sharp reminder of how we failed you.”
“You didn’t fail me,” Alex scoffed as he drank from the ladle. “None of you did.”
Cap slowly shook his head. “You will never, ever convince a single one of us of that. That is why we are here, Alex. Not because we missed y
ou or we needed to see you, though all of that is true. Not even because we need answers that only you can give, though that is certainly true. We are here because we failed you before. We could have saved you if we had only done more digging, tried harder, been better…”
“Stop,” Alex managed, setting the ladle back into the bucket.
“So, when we got Stanton’s message,” Cap went on, “it was providential. We rode up at once, no question. We could not fail you again.”
Alex closed his eyes and turned away. “Cap…”
“I don’t know what you went through, Alex, but you’re not getting rid of us forever. We’re always going to be your brothers, here or in London.”
“I know.” Alex exhaled very slowly, then opened his eyes and turned back to face him. “What do you need to know?”
Cap’s brows shot up. “At the moment? How your ribs are.”
“I’m being serious, Cap,” Alex said with a scowl, moving to sit on a stool against the barn wall.
“So am I. How are the ribs?” Cap asked, coming over to lean beside him.
Alex looked up at Cap wryly. “They hurt.”
His mentor nodded once. “And the lash marks?”
Alex stiffened, one hand forming a fist on his knee. “How did you know about that?”
Cap glanced down at Alex, expression sardonic. “You mentioned lashing. And it’s typical punishment onboard a ship. Besides, that shirt is fairly thin, so as you worked, the moisture from the sweat made the fabric nearly transparent. I saw them. Did you take off the bandages Stanton placed there this morning? I’m fairly certain he placed some, you walked much more awkwardly first thing this morning.”
No one should have known that Alex removed the bandages. He’d taken great care to avoid being seen when he’d taken them off, mostly out of fear that it would be reported to Poppy. Or that Stanton would be upset and wrap him tighter, making working the fields impossible.
“You notice too much, you know that?” Alex grumbled, looking away.
“I’m a spy, remember?” Cap chuckled at his own quip, and patted Alex on the shoulder. “I’m not going to press you on details yet. There’s time.”
Fall from Trace Page 10
