Layers to Peel

by Tilly Wallace

  "Firstly, you are Alick's mate, which is a commitment carved in his soul and no piece of paper could ever mean more. Secondly, the church ceremony may have been a charade, but the handfasting was no sham." Hamish took a sip from his coffee.

  "Pardon?" Now Isabel was at a loss for words. She turned to Alick, a frown between her brows.

  Hamish continued with his explanation, "I am Alick's laird, or will be. In the absence of my father, I have the power to oversee a legally binding ceremony. You two are wed in Scottish eyes."

  Alick would stick to Isabel regardless of the legal circumstances and whether they were married or not. Yet there was something about hearing she was his by Scottish law that made his heart swell a fraction more. Yet his bride fell silent. He placed a finger under her chin and drew her gaze to him. Tears shimmered in her eyes.

  "Izzy-Cat? Do you not want to be tied to me?" He wasn't sure his heart could take the strain of hope being dashed again. He was going to need a drink after events of the last few days. A rather large drink. Perhaps a vat he could swim in?

  "Oh, Alick. I can't say the words—"

  Oh hell, he would need a barrel of whisky large enough to drown himself in if she had changed her mind.

  "—to think that our beautiful ceremony under the stars was the one that bound us. It is too perfect." She leaned over and kissed him.

  Ewan clapped his hands. "Well, that point is settled. Isabel, you are shackled with the brute; our condolences."

  "I'm sure the two of us will muddle through. And I have been told I am abrasive enough to wear down his rough edges," Isabel laughed.

  "You may find a rolled-up newspaper comes in handy," Aster said and she smiled over the rim of her teacup.

  "Oh, I don't need a newspaper, I have a red ball that he loves to chase." Isabel winked at her friend and the women burst into laughter.

  Alick growled, but he couldn't contain his good humour. Not now. Ewan was the only single man left standing and it would amuse the hell out of him to see the cool, arrogant bastard tumbled to the ground by a woman. Many had tried and failed, but he would look forward to seeing what slip of muslin eventually breached his formidable defences and claimed him as her mate.

  "Well, since that matter is settled, what do we do now about Balcairn?" Ianthe brought the conversation back on track.

  "While these letters are damning, all we have is an offer but no acceptance. We do not know how he replied or any other evidence of his collusion," Hamish said.

  "I heard snippets of conversation between Father and Linwood while I waited for my opportunity. They talked of a warehouse at the West India docks and something about the Isle of Dogs." Isabel finished her morning toast one-handed, refusing to let go of Alick with the other. Or was it he who could not relinquish her?

  "Did you overhear any names? Browning, perhaps?" Hamish and Ewan exchanged looks.

  Isabel nodded. "I know that name. Father owns a portion of an import business called Browning and Sons."

  Hamish drew a slip of paper from his pocket and laid it on the table. "We found this on Smith when we searched him."

  The scrunched-up piece of newsprint was the torn-out advertisement for the importer of luxury goods. The business was relevant and the two pieces of information no coincidence, but what did it all mean? Alick didn't know, and he hoped someone else could piece the clues together. Someone far smarter than him. Like Aster.

  "How are furnishings and trinkets for the ton relevant? Could it be a cover to smuggle in something else?" Quinn voiced the unspoken question rattling around in Alick's head.

  "Isabel, did you overhear anything else, any context to their conversation?" Aster asked.

  She chewed her bottom lip while she thought. White teeth nibbled on lush flesh in a way that made Alick uncomfortable to watch and he embellished his plans for later that evening.

  At length she spoke again. "Mostly just muffled words and phrases. I heard Forge mentioned around the same time as the Isle of Dogs. Then perhaps something about how to spread the word even if they had to beg?"

  As one, heads swivelled in Aster's direction, waiting for her to decipher any hidden meaning.

  "The context doesn't work with begging," Aster said and tapped her chin in thought. Then her remarkable gaze lit on Isabel. "Could they have been talking about Forge doing something with a keg?"

  Isabel frowned. "Possibly, but it became garbled. I suspect they were getting to the bottom of the brandy decanter by that point. Would that be more relevant?"

  Aster smiled. "Yes, and the context reveals itself in a rather old-fashioned touch. Conspirators of old would send their communications wrapped in oilskin and concealed in kegs. I believe it was the downfall of Mary, Queen of Scots."

  Four Scotsmen scowled at Aster.

  "You're lucky Aunt Maggie has gone back to Scotland; she doesn't like to hear anything spoken against Queen Mary." Hamish waggled his eyebrows at his wife.

  "It would be a convenient method of distribution for our conspirators. Browning and Sons imports a range of goods, including a variety of liquors. They could send their kegs all over England, directly into the hands of other peers eager to see a change in the monarchy. Unrest grows apace with King George's madness," Ewan said.

  "Isle of Dogs would be a good bolt hole for the vampyre. Close to London but still isolated enough that no one would bother him." Alick finished off another sausage.

  "I think we need to pay the Isle and docks a visit after breakfast," Hamish said.

  While the rest of the meal was demolished, they laid their plans.

  28

  Isabel

  * * *

  Even though they drew a noose around Isabel's father, she could never entirely hate him. He had given her the spark of life and it was his treatment of her as a young girl that had forged the woman she became. In trying to garner his attention or affection, she learned resilience and how to ride, shoot, and fence—all skills that would serve her well in her new life, out from under the duke's control. He had chosen his path, just as she now chose hers, and both of them would have to live with the consequences.

  Isabel tried to settle the turmoil of emotions that fought for dominance within her. She found that despite the shadow that reached for the duke, her heart wanted to soar. At last she was embarking upon adventure. Alick didn't even ask if she was coming along; she had been included in their plan from the outset. This man didn't expect her to sit in a parlour and embroider—he handed her a knife and wanted her at his side.

  Alick, however, did not look quite as ecstatic once they were underway. He sat in the hackney, arms crossed over his chest and a dark scowl making his face more foreboding than usual. "This isn't going to work."

  "Why ever not? I look like a boy, don't I?" Isabel had even tucked her long hair up under a soft cap to complete her look as a lad visiting London for the first time with his uncle.

  His gaze narrowed. "Yes. But you are supposed to be my kin, and the feelings you are giving me are entirely inappropriate to express with my nephew."

  She suppressed her smile. It appeared her husband had quite the liking for her in trousers, a fact she intended to wield to her advantage in the future.

  "If the trousers are bothering you, I promise to let you remove them later tonight." She lowered her lashes and watched him with a coquette's gaze.

  He growled in response. "Oh, I'll take them off you. Right before I spank that fine-looking arse for running off to London without giving me a signal first."

  "You can try, big man, but I am improving my fighting skills." Just thinking about her impending punishment made Isabel clench her thighs together. The slow burn started low in her body at the thought of being stretched over his knee, waiting for the first slap on her naked buttocks.

  To imagine she had once thought this man some monstrous ogre. Over time, he had pulled back his layers revealing the sweeter centre, like an onion stripped of the tough brown skin. His touch, his gaze, even just his words could
set her skin alight like no other. His wolf's growl was delicious and sent tingles all the way down her spine to her toes. A tiny part of her felt sorry for her former aristocratic sisters, bound to stuffy formal marriages. This wild, unbridled man allowed her full freedom and she would relish every moment of it.

  "I'll not be responsible for my actions if any of the dock workers try to touch that posterior." The scowl remained in place.

  Isabel bit back her laughter. At times he was more grumpy bear than savage wolf, but she liked knowing he would protect her back, or backside, from unwanted attention. She glanced out the window as they trotted through the streets of London, heading east. Life seemed more vibrant, colourful, and loud now she was truly a part of it and not a passive observer.

  Somewhere behind their small carriage, Hamish and Ewan followed in another hackney. They would meet at the Browning and Sons warehouse at the West India docks. The other men would find an unguarded entrance to the warehouse and slip inside, while Alick and Isabel tried a direct approach.

  Quinn stayed behind in Kensington, much to his dismay. Given Forge was supposed to have killed him, they didn't want the vampyre spotting the animated corpse and realising they had spun a web of deception around him. Nobody wanted to risk exposing Aster and her secret work as a cryptographer. They had silenced one shadow man in Oxfordshire, but the threat still remained. Much to Isabel's delight, Quinn missing out meant she could adopt a role as the fourth ‘man.’

  Alick and Isabel alighted at the side of the road just after Limehouse and walked down Mill Wall Road toward the new dock canals. The original mills that operated on the Isle of Dogs were quickly being dwarfed by other industry. The West India docks had opened just a few years earlier, in 1802, and supporting industry had sprung up around them. The constant flow of ships needed shipyards, iron works, warehouses, and a multiple of other businesses.

  Alick referred to the slip of paper they had found on the duke's shadow man. "Browning and Sons is on the outer row, at the end." He pointed to the far side of the dock and the buildings that had the canal at their back. The little waterway cut the Isle in half and stretched from Blackwall Reach to Limehouse Reach.

  The artificial harbour had rows of warehouses through the middle and on the outer sides. Ships were docked along the wharf and men swarmed over them with cargos either coming off or going back on. Boys looked like rats as they climbed up massive ropes that secured the vessels to the bollards. Voices called out, some singing, and over it all was the constant creak of timbers and the clang of hammers on metal from the ironworks.

  The tidy rows of warehouses were all the same, yet different at the same time. Some sat empty. Others had the doors wide open as men worked with the vessel at the end of the short slipway. A few had cargo nets dangling from ropes as crates were raised to the top floor of the warehouse. Some businesses looked to be waiting for ships to arrive, with the men sitting on the wharf and chatting, their feet skimming the water below.

  Birds circled overhead and occasionally dived into the water, chasing small fish below the surface or scraps that floated after being discarded from the ships. Isabel drank in the noise, activity, and freedom of wearing breeches.

  "There are all sorts of places you could take me dressed like this. I would quite like to go to a music hall and then a cock fight," she murmured at Alick's side.

  "You're going to be trouble, woman," he shot from between tight lips.

  "You wouldn't have me any other way." She smiled and went back to examining everything around her while Alick chuckled.

  Then he pulled her to a stop. "This one."

  Browning & Sons, luxury importers was painted in bright blue letters above two enormous doors. The doors were on rollers with metal tracks so they could be slid open or shut. They walked around a cart being loaded with crates and peered into the dim interior.

  "Can I help you?" a man called out. His sleeves were rolled up and a cap was wedged on his head. Brown eyes looked out from a deeply creased face.

  "I'm looking for my cousin," Alick replied. "The lad and I are in London on a visit and wish to take him out for a drink once he has finished for the day."

  The man wiped his hands on his trousers. "What's your cousin's name?"

  "Smith. Callum Smith."

  The warmth drained from the man's gaze and he stiffened. He gestured over his shoulder. "You'll find him inside. He's overseeing the load heading for York."

  "Thank you." Alick touched the brim of his hat and led the way into the dim interior.

  "It would appear your cousin is not an overly popular man," Isabel whispered as they turned.

  Alick grunted. "He's a dead blood-sucking traitor. There isn't much to like about him."

  Isabel stayed close to his side, aware of the curious glances of the men around them. Though dressed like a lad, she was uncommonly tall for a woman, and she hoped their gazes saw only a gangly youth.

  As they entered the dim interior they stopped and simply stared, waiting for their eyes to adjust to the low light. The warehouse was two storeys high, with a half floor from the middle back accessible by two sets of narrow stairs, which looked more like ship's ladders, that ran up either side of the main space. A tiny landing halfway up would give a spot to rest if a worker carried a heavy load.

  Within the large space was an assortment of everything a wealthy noble might want to impress their peers. Enormous polished armoires stood to one side like wooden soldiers waiting to be told to deploy. Opposite them were tiny side tables with delicately turned legs, suitable to grace a lady's parlour, which huddled together like an odd assortment of long-legged spiders. Persian carpets were rolled up and stacked to one side. Crates were piled high, each with odd markings on the side, perhaps to indicate what treasures lay within.

  And everywhere were kegs, stacked one atop the other as though a giant child were building a fort. A rich sweet odour escaped from the dense oak.

  "I think I know where father gets his French brandy from now," Isabel whispered.

  Isabel gazed at the wall of small wooden barrels, containing a variety of alcoholic liquids. Some were labelled sherry or claret; others contained brandy or rum. Any one of the solid kegs could contain a secret missive from her father to other French supporters. Which tipple would prove to be the downfall of her father?

  She waited until the worker moved on, before leaning in close to Alick. "Assuming somewhere in there is a secret message from my father to his supporters, how would we ever find the right keg?"

  "We ask Smith nicely to point it out." Alick glanced around. His tone implied he meant the opposite. The big man in a serious mood was a frightening prospect, even as it made a shiver work down her spine.

  As they ventured farther into the cavern, Isabel stopped seeing the decorations necessary to furnish a fine home and viewed the fripperies through Mrs. Ferguson's eyes. How many children could be fed for the cost of one rug? A single chaise could pay the rent for a family for quite some time. How did the wealthy ignore those in need right outside their ornate gates?

  Men walked back and forth, some with items slung on their shoulders or carried between two or more. Isabel and Alick peered at faces. She had heard stories of French vampyres and their love of fashion and fine garments, but that didn't fit what she remembered of Forge, leader of the shadow men.

  Smith—or Forge, or whatever he called himself—was always half cloaked by the dark or with a hat drawn over his face. Searching through her memories, she tried to match rough shape and build to the men. Deeper in the warehouse, lanterns were set on boxes in different spots, casting a pale yellow light, and shadows flickered. She kept expecting Smith to draw the shadows to himself and step from the wall.

  At length, Alick touched her arm and gestured to one area of the workspace where a nondescript man stood with his back to them. In his hands he held a ledger and he made notes as men took away the crates he gestured toward. Some had chalk numbers scribbled on the sides, or strange notations. Isa
bel wondered if the marks were a destination or some other type of coded message.

  As they approached Alick put out his hand, halting Isabel just behind him. Then he called out, "Smith."

  The man looked up and a faint trace of light lit his face and played over the plane of his cheek. Still, the sight stirred no recollection in Isabel. His features were unremarkable, ordinary even, being neither too handsome nor unattractive—the sort of man one would see in a crowd and immediately forget once he turned away. Even his clothing was nondescript and indistinguishable from the working class garb worn by all the other men. Only his eyes made her take a step back. They were completely black, as though they were all pupil with no iris.

  Forge narrowed his gaze at Alick and then his top lip curled back as recognition flicked behind his dead eyes. Sharp canines dropped to his lower lip. "Ferguson. We have standards at Browning and Sons, and don't allow dogs."

  "Why don't you come outside in the sunshine and say that to me? I'd love to know if it's true that when exposed to direct sunlight your kind make great bonfires without the need for kindling." Alick gestured over his shoulder at the open doors while Isabel stayed in his shadow.

  Forge placed his ledger on the top of a keg and took a step forward. Another flicker of light passed over his face and highlighted his unnatural black gaze.

  Movement from behind a wall of stacked chairs caught Isabel's attention and Hamish stepped around, placing one hand on an upholstered arm as though considering a purchase. Forge didn't even blink; it was as if he had expected the other man. Did vampyres have enhanced senses like the wolves? Perhaps he had known Hamish was lurking all along—but where was Ewan?

  "Your false list was very amusing. Not that it mattered in the end. Events are too far advanced to be stopped now and your childish riddle was merely an inconvenience. We all have our roles to play and change will soon sweep over England," Forge said to Hamish.

  "Glad to hear I inconvenienced you. Since we are chatting, would you satisfy my curiosity about something, Forge? What did the French offer you that was worth stopping your heart?" Hamish circled left as Alick stepped right.