by Heather Gray
Isabel's words were short. "Don't make me drag the words out of you."
"That mess in Austria where Jackal nearly died?"
She nodded.
"Your friend Owen is the reason there wasn't a funeral."
He'd mentioned… "I think he told me the story, but he didn't give names. He didn't even mention the country, or I'd have figured it out already."
"Rumor is he's a friend of Jackal’s."
Isabel reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out the missive. "You don't get that kind of information by spending time in places women can't go. Where did you learn that?"
Red shrugged and pushed himself away from the wall. "I still have a few contacts that aren't dead yet." With a glance at the folded paper in her hands, he asked, "What's that?"
"A letter. Owen brought it to me."
Maggie leaned close. "Is that a J on the seal?"
Red let out a short bark of laughter. "Read it and then tell me if I'm right. You'll go together, you'll return together, and for better or worse, you'll have your answers. But I'm thinkin' it’ll be for the better."
Carefully breaking the seal, Isabel unfolded the single sheet of paper.
Q,
You have the promise of a safe haven should you ever care to stop at C.M.
We share a mutual friend. Trust him. He seeks to do what is right at great personal cost. He may keep secrets from you, but only because he must. I implore you to believe in his goodness. Perhaps one day soon we can share a hug, and I can tell you more.
I have missed you, my friend. It pained me to keep silent as agreed, but you have remained always in my prayers.
J
Isabel refolded the missive and clutched it in her hand.
"Are you going to tell us what the note says?" Curiosity filled Maggie's voice.
Heat climbed Isabel's neck. Red's guffaw told her it was visible.
She refused to acknowledge his laughter. "Are you sure the two of you will be fine here?"
Maggie patted her arm. "We'll get along well enough. We know what to do, and I'll be perfectly safe with Red watching out for me."
She regarded the man who had been friend, protector, investigator, warrior, and sometimes even nursemaid for her over the years. He nodded. "On my honor."
Isabel shivered, fear clawing at her throat. She'd never left Red and Maggie for any length of time. She had to accept the facts. It wasn't them she feared for; it was herself. They're going to realize they no longer need me.
"I guess I need to pack a satchel. He leaves at first light. Do we know where his horse is stabled?"
Red reached for his coat. "I'll go track down his horse and secure you a mount, too."
Their funds were limited. "Are you sure we can afford it?"
He winked at her. "Maggie and I may have spent some time in the gambling dens while you've been busy. Collecting information, of course."
Isabel shook her head. Red had one vice that she knew of, and he rarely indulged in it. The duration and inactivity of their present assignment would be the perfect reason for him to find himself a game of cards.
For as long as she'd known him, Red had never lost, which was one of the reasons he didn't play as much as he'd like. People remember the men who lose in extraordinary fashion as easily as they remember those who win in the same way. He was one of the latter, but because their way of life depended on remaining unnoticed, he refrained from playing as much as possible.
****
Isabel climbed from the bed no more rested than she'd been upon climbing in the night before. She had done her best to stay still so Maggie could at least get some rest, but it had been a battle. She'd wrestled with her insecurities throughout the night until finally giving them to God.
I love them, and I'm afraid of losing them. One of two things is going to happen. They'll need me to protect them, and I won't be here. Or they'll discover they don't need me at all. Give me peace, Lord, before I lose my mind with fear and worry.
She stepped out the front door to find Red had brought her a small mare. There was nothing extraordinary or noteworthy about her, which made her perfect. "What's her name?"
"Penelope."
Isabel forced a smile. "That's a funny name for a horse."
Maggie stepped out of the cottage, Isabel's satchel in one hand and a heavy cloak in the other. "You'll need this to keep you warm. Take care of yourself. Make sure you eat."
Isabel took the cloak from her and put it on. Thick and warm, it would offer good protection from the elements. She lifted her head with a hoarse thank you whilst Maggie wrapped her in a strangling hug. "You come back to us safe and sound. If that boy lets anything happen to you, I'll send Red after him. With all his knives, too. And maybe a few guns." Maggie sniffled. "You come back, you hear me? You can't decide you fancy London more than us."
Eyes burning, Isabel wrapped her arms tightly around Maggie and returned her hug. "I'll be back as soon as I'm able. I promise."
Maggie released her and stepped back. Red spun her to face him and put his big meaty arms around her. "Remember your training, girl. Stay on the alert. Keep a weapon with you at all times." Then he pulled back but kept his hands on her shoulders. Looking into Isabel's eyes with more understanding than she'd ever given him credit for, Red said, "We'll be safe, but we won't be whole until you come back to us. We're family."
As the tears started to gather at the corners of her eyes, Red leaned in and gave her a quick kiss on the forehead, then turned her toward the horse and gave her a gentle push before offering her a hand up. "His horse is at Stonewell's Livery on the northeast corner of town. You'll find it easily enough."
Isabel mounted with Red's aid, made sure her satchel was secure, and then gave her dear friends a nod and wave before she wheeled Penelope around and gave the mare just enough of a nudge to get her moving.
Chapter Seventeen
Owen's thoughts were a jumble of regret and anxiety as he left the inn. Hank had agreed to store his portmanteau for him, so Owen carried only his satchel and the dread weighing him down. He didn't want to leave Bristol, and the reason had nothing to do with Isabel.
A self-derisive snort sent a puff of breath into the icy morning air.
Even Owen didn't believe the lie. He felt responsible for her, as though his family were to blame for every wrong ever done her. Finding the truth was of paramount importance. He needed to free her from whatever lies she'd been told. If the blame landed squarely at his father's feet? So be it.
Owen didn't want to believe his own father could be to blame for the death of Isabel's parents, but the implications were there. The possibility was real. He fought back the shame washing through him at the thought.
The outrage he'd previously held at Tobias' accusations had soured in his stomach until it had morphed into anger at his father.
With a swiftness born of anger, Owen's feet ate up the distance from the inn to the livery. He saddled Despiadado and mounted.
As he began the ride out of town, a verse he'd learned long ago came to mind.
And let the peace of God rule in your hearts.
Owen pondered the verse as he rode. He was angry at his father, angry at Tobias, and angry at the entire distasteful situation. Very little about him could be classified as peaceful at the moment.
You've got it, God. You have my attention. I need to do this job, but in order to be able to focus, I've got to let my anger go.
He'd heard people speak before about the way God talked to them. Owen hadn't ever had one of those epiphanies where the voice of God had been audible, but he did believe God communicated with him in the quiet of his heart.
His irritation and turmoil eased the further out of town he got
I've always believed I answer to You for the things I do and say, that You are the judge of what makes a man righteous or not. Why, then, am I letting what my father may have done affect me so much? His crimes — if he committed them — don't determine who I am. You look inside
to judge me, not to my father's actions. So why, then, am I so angry at my father for making me less than I thought I was?
No answer was forthcoming, but Owen felt better simply for having given voice to the emotions at war within him. Owen recognized his reaction for what it was — pure emotion. It bore no resemblance to logic and could not be thought through and classified like expenditures in a ledger.
His head cleared and he began to focus on his surroundings and the upcoming problem of the minister's belongings, but he became aware of another horse on the road. He glanced back and saw nothing, but he held his pistol at the ready as the road cut through a copse of trees. Owen reined Despiadado in and waited on the other side.
No horse and rider followed him through. His suspicion increased exponentially. "I can wait here all day. You might as well come out!"
A horse and rider stepped into the sun then, but not from the trees. They'd come around the copse rather than through. Owen drank in the sight. "Isabel."
She gave him a small nod. "I'll be accompanying you to London."
He shook his head. "I don't think that's a good idea."
Her mouth tightened. "I'm not asking permission."
If my father is to blame, she's going to hate me. "Is Tobias expecting you?"
"That's rich."
He couldn't help the smile pulling at his lips. Enjoy Isabel's company for as many days as it took to reach London? The idea had merit. "Ah, so Tobias is not one of your favorite people, either?"
She shrugged, and a shroud dropped imperceptibly over her eyes. "I think he does the best he can, but as with the rest of us, Tobias has to answer to someone."
Isabel was, as always, perceptive.
"You might want to know he's ordered me on this mission without parliamentary knowledge."
Isabel's eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open in a most unladylike — and yet becoming — fashion. "He's breaking rank?"
Owen offered a half-shrug. "I don't know what he's up to, but I want to believe he seeks to find the truth and bring it to light."
"You make him sound almost honorable." Bitterness gave Isabel's voice a hard edge.
"I wouldn't go that far, but I am beginning to suspect Tobias does what he believes is best for his agents."
"Even if it means sending them to the other end of the world and abandoning them there?"
"If it means protecting them from a real and lethal threat on these shores, then yes, I believe that's precisely what he'd do."
Isabel's eyes narrowed. "You know things you're not saying."
He nodded. "I suspect things I'm not saying. There's a difference. Hopefully by the time this is over, I'll have more than vague suspicions."
She didn't look satisfied with his answer, but she conceded the point. "Very well."
They rode along in silence for a while before Isabel asked, "Have you any idea where we'll be stopping for the night?"
Owen smiled. "Tonight, my Queen, we shall be resting at Chakal Manor."
Isabel's quick intake of breath drew his attention. Her cheeks bloomed with color, and her eyes sparkled.
"Ah, so you wish to see Chakal Manor, then?"
She nodded.
"Our friend is not presently in residence, but he's given me leave to stop for a night whenever needed. Although his wife's hideous nursemaid will be in residence. She's older than the earth itself and once thought to beat me with her cane."
Isabel laughed. "I say, a frail old woman? And you think she's capable of doing you harm?"
Owen parried an imaginary sword at Isabel as they rode. "I'll have you know, the woman has the fierce strength of twenty trained warriors and a mystical stare that can turn the strongest man into a billowing cloud of ash with a single look."
Isabel bit her bottom lip and chuckled. "Surely you jest. Why, nursemaids are nothing but kindness and nurturing."
"I was bruised for weeks, I tell you. That woman beat me nigh unto death with her cane."
Isabel had a beautiful laugh, and Owen couldn't help but want to hear it again.
The weeks ahead would be hard for them both, but especially for Isabel. Either they would learn her parents had truly been traitors… or they had been murdered to cover someone else’s traitorous plot. Until they got to London and the difficult task of sorting through the minister's things, Owen would make sure she had plenty of laughter to brighten her days. It was possible their journey would end with the discovery of his father's involvement. Isabel would hate the entire Loring family, including Owen, if that were the case. Before that happened, he would do his best to make sure she was also left with fond memories of him, something to temper the hatred.
Chapter Eighteen
They rode hard all day long. Isabel's mare wasn't meant for such a long journey and had to be traded for another horse at one of the stops they made. Time was of the essence, and they couldn't dilly dally for the sake of the beast.
Isabel couldn't help but glare at Despiadado from time to time. He was relentless, and even if he were slower, Owen would never consider leaving him behind. The two obviously had a close relationship. The animal seemed to anticipate what Owen intended even before he gave the signal, so closely in sync were man and beast.
After she gave Penelope up, Isabel didn't bother to learn the new horse's name. She didn't have the blunt necessary to purchase a horse capable of riding all day without tiring, which meant the new one would have to be traded in eventually, too.
"You said we'd be there soon, but it's been hours." She couldn't help the whine crawling into her voice.
Owen threw a grin over his shoulder. "That was five minutes ago. Would you care to borrow my timepiece?"
Isabel glowered at him. She wasn't used to riding such long distances sidesaddle. In the past whenever she'd needed to travel far, she'd disguised herself as a man for the ride. She didn't suppose that would be well-received by Owen, though, and so had dressed as Iola the poor barmaid. Which meant she'd had to wear a dress and use a woman's saddle. Halfway into the day she'd begun to question the wisdom of her choice. "If I had a rock handy, I'd throw it at you."
"What good would that do? Then you'd never find the manor."
Owen reined in his horse, and Isabel, intent on getting ahead of him, even for a few minutes, gave her horse a small heel kick to spur her past Despiadado. The poor girl showed her timidity by shying away from the big horse.
By the time she coaxed the mare around Despiadado, Isabel felt childish for making such a production of taking the lead. She, too, reined her horse in. Looking back at Owen, she tucked her chin down. "We shan't arrive at all if you dawdle the day away."
The sparkle in Owen's eyes should have been a clue, but Isabel was too fatigued to pay it any mind.
"Are you honestly going to sit there and ignore me?"
When he still said nothing, Isabel circled around with a harrumph and the tightening of her mare's reins. Then she glanced up, and her mouth fell open. Chakal Manor stood, a castle backlit by the setting sun. It wasn't the largest castle in all of England. Nor was it the most elegant. Nonetheless, with the sun-painted sky setting the backdrop afire and lighting up every surface, the castle looked to be dusted with rubies, golden apatite, and citrine.
"Breathtaking." As if her whispered words had been the permission needed, the sun sank over the horizon, and the brilliant colors faded to a faint yellow glow.
"Now, my fair lady, may I introduce you to Chakal Manor?"
"You never told me it was mystical."
From the corner of her eye she caught Owen's smile. "Not mystical, no. Safe. Which is its own kind of magic, wouldn't you say?"
Together they rode toward the castle. Years had passed since Jackal had shared the tale of Chakal Manor with her, one night during her stay at the Queen's court. She'd been too frightened to fall asleep that night, and he'd entertained her with stories of his past. Some were about missions, but one was of his family estate. He'd described it to her in such great detail that as
soon as she'd caught her first glimpse all these years later, she'd known.
Isabel gritted her teeth. She was no longer that helpless, frightened child, and Jackal could take much of the credit for that. He'd trained her to defend herself, and he'd taught her to believe in herself. He'd seen value in her at a time when it felt as if everyone wished to throw her away.
"You said Jackal has gone on to London?"
Owen nodded.
"Will… will I be able to see him?"
She sensed rather than saw Owen's thoughtful gaze on her. "I'll arrange it."
"I don't even know his real name."
She caught the flash of white teeth in the fading light. "I'll let him introduce himself. He spoke too highly of you for me not to allow him the honor."
****
They left their horses with the stable boy, and Owen carried both their satchels as they approached the manor's entrance.
The door swung wide to admit them, and Isabel followed Owen into the grand foyer. "You are expected. A light repast awaits you in the blue salon." The butler's stiff words reminded Isabel of Chambers, the Rutherford's servant. Yet upon closer examination, she noticed the twinkle in this butler's eyes. "I believe roasted pigeon is on the menu."
Isabel ran a few steps further into the house before coming to a sudden stop. Turning back to the butler, she asked, "Where would I find the blue salon?"
"Come along. I'll show you." Owen took the lead. He marched, a soldier going to battle. Or to face his death. Isabel had the distinct feeling Owen dreaded coming face to face with Pigeon. But how could he? Pigeon was brilliant and amazing, a legend.
Owen strode through a door and stopped, causing Isabel to run into his back.
"Move, you oaf." She pushed him out of the way and stepped into the room. A table was set with a spread of food and two intricately designed plates. The woman who sat in a chair near the window wheeled around and looked at them, and Isabel was shocked by her age. In her mind, Pigeon was vibrant, powerful, and mighty. This woman must be at least eighty years old.
