by Heather Gray
"I can see how it would seem that way. Can I ask you something?"
A single brisk dip of the chin was as close as he could get to acquiescence from her.
"Do you believe your parents committed treason?"
Isabel bit her lip then stared down at her hands, wrapped as they now were around her raised knees. "I never heard them say anything against England or the Crown. They were good, honest, hardworking people, and I can't reconcile the people in the written reports with the parents who raised me. In my heart there will always be doubt, but my doubt changes nothing. My parents are dead, and nobody can know my real name. There are still people left who remember my parents and how they died, and because of that, my name can't ever be uttered. If my identity is discovered, I would lose my ability to hide in plain sight, or to live any kind of life resembling ordinary."
"Iola it is, then. Your secret is safe with me. I'm sorry you had to go through any of that. I tried to find your family. Their execution must have been a well-hidden secret. Nobody I spoke to knew anything."
"What?" The corner of Isabel's mouth tilted up in a way both haughty and seductive. "You never thought to look in the Queen's court?"
Owen's deep chuckle echoed in the small room before quiet once again settled around them, a comfortable shroud in the darkness. "Thank you for telling me the truth. I don't take lightly the trust you've placed in me this night."
Isabel's mouth dipped down at the corners, and Owen longed for her smile once again. She deserved a life full of wide-mouthed, bright-eyed, worry-free smiles.
He stood from his chair and held out a hand to help her up off the ground. "It's time you show me back to my cleft in the rock. I need to find my bed sometime before the sun rises, and you've got a long day of work ahead of you."
"Aye, that I have."
"I think I got the easier of our two assignments."
She pushed him playfully out the door. "A woman's work is never done. Even God talks about how painful her labor will be."
Owen was about to correct her when the hint of humor in her voice penetrated his mind. He decided to play along. "You speak truth. God himself says women must work from before sunup till after sundown. They shan't ever have rest, and misery is to be heaped up on their heads daily. It's a shameful thing, being a woman."
Owen's foot, with perfect timing, caught on a rock. He lost his balance and tumbled face-first into the fragrant loamy dirt.
Isabel's chuckle reached him before he regained his feet. Rubbing his shin, he asked, "You saw that rock, didn't you?"
"I'm sorry, kind sir. I was so busy toiling away, I forgot to mention it."
Owen tugged on a strand of the faux red hair she'd put back into place. He unsettled her cap enough to gain him a light rap on the arm. She had to know, but he needed to make sure. "That part about a woman's labor is talking about birthing pains."
"Of course it is, you addlepated ninny. I learned more about childbearing as a lady-in-waiting than I ever wanted to know. One thing's for sure."
"Oh, what's that?"
"I'll never find myself with child."
The image of Isabel holding a babe of her own filled Owen's mind and warmed him. He couldn't let the picture go. "Why not?"
"You learn a few things at court. For example, women who aren't supposed to be with child end up with child all the time. Sometimes of their own doing, and sometimes against their will. Women who are desperate will do anything, no matter how foolish or dangerous. Some women would take a holiday or claim poor health and retire to the country for an extended stay. Others would try to conceal their pregnancy. Those who succeeded in keeping their condition hidden usually tried to smuggle the baby out to a nunnery or orphanage. A few women tried to end their pregnancy. I held the hand of one such woman as she slipped from this earth. The amount of blood should have been terrifying to a child, but by then I don't think I was much of a child anymore."
Isabel shuddered as she said, "One woman delivered her baby in silence. How she held back the screams I'll never know. Most of the women made enough noise to ensure their secret could not be kept. None of us were aware of this one, however, which is how she wanted it. She killed the babe, but the guilt tore away at her soul until she went mad."
It was no secret that ugliness existed in the world and people were often the source of it. Nevertheless, anger bubbled up inside him at the minister who'd recruited Isabel into such a life. If he weren't already dead, I'd be visiting him. She should have been protected and sheltered, no matter what her parents had done.
The irony of it struck Owen, and he stopped walking. Isabel paused a few paces ahead of him. "Is everything all right?"
He wished he could see her face, gauge her reaction. "This entire evening, I've been nursing anger at the minister for putting you in a position to be so closely touched by the darker side of life. Something's occurred to me, though. He exploited your parents' treason to put you into that position, and…"
His words trailed off, but she anticipated what he'd intended to say. "And his son was later killed as a traitor to the Crown. I can't pretend to understand why things happen the way they do, and I'll always be sad the minister saw no way out and took his own life. Sometimes I wonder if he gave me any thought after he discovered Lysander's treachery, but it's of no import. He's dead. Lysander's dead. My parents are dead. And as far as I can tell, the world is no better off without them."
"I disagree."
Isabel's sharp intake of breath sounded in the brisk night air.
Owen ignored her reaction and continued speaking. "I had more experience with Lysander than I wish. I had to clean up some of the horrors he left in his wake. This world is better off without him. The fact that people don't realize it means we've done our job well enough that everyone gets to sleep at night without worry for their safety."
They began walking again and reached the cleft in the rocks a short time later.
Isabel dawdled, an action he'd not associated with her. Owen remained silent and waited for her to speak. She sighed. He wanted to reach out and tell her she need not carry the weight of the world's sadness on her shoulders, but even though she'd shared a part of her story with him that night and had even shared a joke, she remained distant, aloof.
Breaking through Isabel's barriers wouldn't be easy and would need to be handled with care, but Owen knew one thing for certain. He would find a way to get through. The compulsion was too great, his attraction too powerful.
"I didn't know about Lysander. I didn't mean what I said as a criticism."
"I didn't take it that way," he replied.
"No matter how much we work to rid the world of evil, more is always waiting to take its place."
The weight of her words settled in his chest. The struggle was familiar to him. He'd battled those same doubts before. "God's job is to fight evil. Ours is to protect the citizens of England."
"You can do that? Separate your duty from God's?"
"Yes, I can, but not because it was an easy lesson to learn."
Isabel started to walk away. "G'night, Mr. Lanford. I'll be seein' you on the morrow." Though her voice was quiet in the night, the screech had returned. Isabel was gone, and the barmaid stood in her place.
"Goodnight, Iola." The name was bitter on Owen's tongue, for he knew now who she was underneath that disguise, not to mention the pain and loss she'd had to endure.
With a shake of his head, Owen continued his trek toward the inn. Anyone overhearing would think they'd had a tryst… as long as they hadn't heard the earlier part of the conversation. Their private words should never have left the cottage. Owen chastised himself for his haphazard actions, hoping any additional risk was minimal. He wanted to protect her, not bring greater danger into her life. Spending time with Isabel had made him forget himself.
Pictures began flitting through Owen's mind, and he made no attempt to stop them. Isabel as a young girl. Again at her tenth birthday. Then the way she'd looked as Isadore, and ag
ain as Iola. The next pictures rooted him to the spot. He imagined how Isabel would look ripe with child, then again holding a babe with her blond hair and blue eyes.
The words chased Owen on the wind as he knocked to gain entrance to the inn: I want to raise a family with her.
He shook his head. Where did that come from?
Owen ran a hand over his face. Where, indeed?
Hank opened the door in time to see Owen shaking his head again. The innkeeper raised an eyebrow but said only, "It's a mite late, don't you think?"
Owen trudged down to his room, his memories of Isabel as a child fighting to reconcile with what he knew of Queen.
A family? The thought was absurd. Owen was far too meticulous in the way he planned his life. Emotional flights of fancy had no power over him.
And yet the image would not fade.
Chapter Eight
Isabel stomped through the door of the cottage, tugged her wig off, tossed it onto the bureau, and threw herself into the chair. "You can come out. I'm alone."
The red-headed man from the tavern stepped in through the cloth-covered doorway leading to the cottage's one bedroom. Accompanying him was a woman whose black hair sported a touch of grey and whose outfit suggested her readiness for a night of work down at the docks. Never mind she was a touch too long in the tooth for the unsavory profession.
Isabel lifted her hand to forestall the coming comments. "I don't want to hear it. He needs to believe he can trust me."
The woman kneeled down next to Isabel and took the younger woman's hand in her own. "We're worried about you, Queenie. This fella's getting to you, and we don't want you hurting once this business is all finished."
Isabel squeezed the older woman's hand then leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. "Everything will be fine. I won't let Owen pull me off track. You and Red go take care of business and inform me if you learn anything of value."
Red crossed his arms and glowered. "Maggie, go wait outside for a minute. I'll be right out."
Maggie stood, put her hands on her hips, and gave Red a hard look. "Don't you dare upset my girl. She needs her rest, and we all have a job to do." Then she spun toward the door, gave Isabel a quick squeeze on the shoulder, and stepped out into the blackness of the night.
"Queen…"
Isabel cut him off. "I understand, Red. The last time I let my feelings get in the way of the job, people died. People you and I both cared about. I won't let it happen again. No matter how much I think I can trust the man, I won't risk the two of you."
Red rested his hand on her shoulder, much as Maggie had done. "Me and Maggie will be fine. You're the one I'm worried about."
With that, he slipped quietly into the night. He and Maggie would go to the docks and play the part of doxy and client in order to get into places they'd not dare tread in daylight. Voices carried far over the water once the hustle and bustle of the day quieted down, often bringing them invaluable information without Red or Maggie ever having to speak to a soul.
****
Isabel lay on her bed, wishing slumber would find her. Memories held her captive, though, and tore at her as effectively as a cat-o'-nine-tails.
Everyone else was dead. It was her and Red now. They were on their own, and she'd do anything to make it up to him. After all, she was to blame for the deaths. Everything was her fault.
Isabel couldn't escape the guilt, even on a beautiful spring day. She walked home from the market with two fresh apples. Red deserved something special for his birthday, especially after all he'd been through because of her.
The sound of a mewling cat down one of the alleys reached her ears, but Isabel ignored the sound and kept walking. America might be the land of opportunity, but it was also a land of filth and scavengers that didn't care whether the sun shone or not. At least in England the beasts had enough respect to come out after dark and hide away during the daylight hours.
Isabel almost chuckled. Red would like that one. She'd have to tell him later. They spent many an evening comparing the wild land in which they found themselves to the genteel one they'd left. Neither of them remembered England accurately, of course. Together, they painted their homeland in glorious colors and talked about it as if it were the Promised Land. It gave them something to do and helped to pass the time of day. In truth, they both knew England had as much depravity as the colonies, but admitting it wouldn't make for such entertaining conversation.
The mewling reached Isabel's ears again, penetrating the fog of her thoughts. Pain filled the voice. Be it cat or something else, the animal was wounded. She couldn't walk away and leave it to suffer, so instead she tucked the apples deep into her pockets and lifted her skirts as she gingerly stepped through the heaps of garbage and human refuse in the alley. As she reached the back wall, she found the source of the distressed mewling.
A woman lay among the refuse. She had been beaten with such severity her eyes couldn't open, and her jaw had nominal movement. Her skin was mottled enough to appear more a corpse than a live thing. Isabel reached out and touched the woman's hand, but the mewling rose to a terrified pitch, and the poor thing tried to scramble away from her.
"I mean you no harm. I'm here to help. I've got medicine at home. Can you walk? I don't live far from here."
Isabel had to talk for several minutes before the woman's cries quieted. More minutes passed before the poor creature would allow Isabel to touch her. Several more quiet assurances that she meant no harm, and the woman allowed Isabel to help her to her feet. The woman cried out in pain with each step, and Isabel's certainty grew that one of her legs might be broken. Had she been thinking, she might have run home to get Red so he could help. As it was, Isabel's reaction was fueled by instinct, not thought.
I'll not let anyone else die. I'll not let anyone else die. I'll not let…
The chant repeated itself through Isabel's head with each step they took. She would not leave this woman behind. She couldn't. The very sanity of her soul depended on it.
She finally reached the small tenement she shared with Red, and he threw the door open. "Where have you been? I've been worried…" Then his mouth caught up with his eyes and froze.
"Help me get her inside. I think she's broken a leg. She needs doctoring and medicine."
Without effort, Red scooped the woman up into his arms and carried her through to the one bedroom. He laid her down on the narrow cot and brushed the hair out of her eyes. Then he sought Isabel with his eyes. "I knew you were sneaking around to get a birthday gift for me, but I had no idea the lengths to which you'd go."
Isabel lifted her eyes to Red, hoping he would understand how much this meant to her. "She needs us."
Red nodded, solemn. "Aye. And maybe we need to be needed."
Isabel turned over and punched her pillow. She and Maggie had been sharing a room ever since. Their financial reach did not include luxury, so Red usually found himself with a pallet in the main room, or sometimes a divan if they were lucky. It had been true. They'd needed Maggie as much as she'd needed them. Maggie, Isabel, and Red were a family now, and she wouldn't let anything get in the way of that, not even these strange feelings she had whenever Owen Loring was near.
****
Isabel was drifting off to sleep when Maggie and Red returned. Maggie slipped into the room and changed into her sleeping clothes before climbing into bed.
"Anything worth reporting tonight?"
Maggie's chuckle reached her ear. "I told that oaf you'd be too upset to sleep any, but he didn't believe me." Isabel offered no rejoinder, and Maggie continued. "We didn't learn anything new, and frankly it's getting too cold at night for these old bones. The wind coming in off the water is frigid something fierce."
"I don't see any reason why you shouldn't take a couple of nights off. Or go earlier in the night and see if the difference brings any new information to light."
Isabel felt Maggie's nod from the neighboring pillow before the older woman yawned. "Don't let what Red says g
et to you. He worries about you more than if you were his own, you know. If your heart is leading you toward this man…"
"It's not, and I won't let you and Red down."
Maggie sighed. "I've never once worried about that, you know. Don't forget, I've seen firsthand what kind of person you are. You could never let me down. But that doesn't stop me from wanting you to be happy."
Isabel snuggled down further into the bed. "Keeping the two of you safe makes me happy."
Chapter Nine
A week had passed since their last covert meeting. November was half gone, and Owen found his mind increasingly consumed with thoughts of Isabel. She was far too stunning for her own good. He continued to be amazed that she did such a good job of making herself invisible as she worked, but nobody who took the time to look in her face could fail to witness her beauty. It made her a risk.
No, it put her at risk.
Owen didn't care for the direction his mind wandered. He'd feigned interest in women before while on the job, and he'd even had a sincere tendré for a young princess while he'd worked in Russia. There had never been any doubt he'd be leaving — or that she was far above his station — so he'd never allowed his sentiment to develop into anything more than a young man's fancy.
Isabel, though — something about her drew him in the way a siren drew in a sailor. He was doomed, pure and simple.
"Mr. Lanford! Mr. Lanford!"
Hank's yell shook Owen from his reverie. The barkeep hollered again, looking right at him.
What was Hank's problem?
Oh, no. Owen scrambled to his feet. He was Mr. Lanford, Mr. Oscar Lanford. At least for now.
