Souls to Heal

by Tilly Wallace

  Could an injured wolf learn to love a broken witch?

  “Come on, lovely, spend some time with ole Pete,” one man said as he reached out and grabbed her waist. His friends laughed and waved their mugs.

  For a brief moment, panic bubbled in her chest at the unwanted contact. Then Alice remembered Ewan’s words. She retreated to the safe haven in her mind and shut the fear and loathing outside. That enabled her to ignore the creeping touch and smile kindly on the foul-smelling gent. Then she brushed his hand away.

  “I’m afraid you would turn my head and ruin me for other men,” she said.

  “Turn your stomach more like!” another man shouted, and the table burst into laughter.

  The men held out their tankards and Alice filled them from the pitcher before she moved on to the next table.

  As night lengthened outside the grimy windows, more men tramped through the front door. Some looked weary, as though they had worked hard all day. Others sought escape in the bottom of a bottle. A few women spun through the crowd, looking to earn a few coins. One peddled her mage-blood skill of reading palms, and another offered to talk to dead loved ones. If that failed to elicit any pennies, they were open to a quick swive up against the wall outside in the chill night.

  A few men stopped at Ewan’s corner to find out more about the stranger in their midst. It was past midnight when the crowd began to thin. Men staggered home to waiting wives, some draped an arm around a local girl who would keep them warm for an hour or two, and others trod the sagging stairs to the upstairs rooms.

  As the tavern emptied of the last few men, Alice took off her dirty apron and ran a hand through her hair. The thought of dropping exhausted into bed had never seemed so appealing.

  “Do you need a hand cleaning up?” Alice asked of the owner, fervently hoping Gaffie said no.

  “Not tonight, love,” Gaffie said. “You’re worked hard today, why don’t you see that man of yours off to bed now?”

  “Thank you, I will. Goodnight,” she called.

  “See you in the morning, love. You’ll find us in the kitchen out back, when you’re ready,” Gaffie said as she piled mugs on a tray to be washed.

  Alice followed a waiting Ewan out the door. He leaned heavily on his walking stick, dragging his left foot as Eilidh danced on ahead. The dog ran on and wove amongst the trees to one side of the tavern as they headed to the little cottage across the yard.

  Alice didn’t mind the cramped room they shared, or the trek across the yard in the chill night air to reach it. Their isolation away from the main building afforded them the privacy to discuss their plans without people in the next room overhearing.

  Once inside, Alice lit a candle, Eilidh darted over to the warm fireplace, and Ewan dropped the bolt across the door. The room held a bed, a table and three chairs, and little else. The furniture was tired and worn, like the occupants of the tavern. Eilidh settled and watched with her head resting on her paws.

  Alice dropped into a chair and slipped off her shoes. She wiggled her toes as Ewan blew on the embers to revive the fire.

  “Tonight I think I walked as many miles as we rode to get here.” Alice lifted one foot onto her knee and rubbed the spot that ached in the sole.

  Ewan took up the poker and prodded the remains of the fire, stirring the embers into life before tossing on a shovelful of coal. Eilidh wagged her tail and showed her approval as the growing flames threw out warmth. Satisfied with the fire, Ewan took a seat opposite Alice.

  “Remember they cannot harm you, Alice.” Ewan’ voice was low, almost a whisper in the near dark. The single candle flickered on the table and cast his face in shadow.

  “I’m sure it will become easier with time, and it helps to know that you and Eilidh watch out for me.” After her years of isolation, the press of the tavern had nearly overwhelmed her. Ewan was her anchor, the constant in the corner of the room that kept her from fleeing. The fear had clawed up her gullet when the first man had smacked her bottom. Memory flooded back and she had had to bite back a whimper. Then she had looked up to find Ewan’s steady gaze on her and she knew she was not alone.

  No more fear.

  “How was your first night? Did you learn anything?” Local men had come and gone at his table. There had been a few laughs and even more quiet conversations.

  “I have put out the word that I am looking for work. Preferably of the questionable and not entirely legal sort that earns more coin. I also dropped into conversation that I happened to know a customs man who had money troubles.” Ewan flexed his arm. His fingers moved much easier now, and the tone was returning to his forearm. It would never be perfect, and his body constantly battled the silver taint inside him, but the strength in his hand improved. “Tomorrow I’ll ride along the coast and see who I encounter.”

  The Kent coastline had developed a reputation for smuggling as men returned from war with empty pockets and no employment to sustain them.

  Alice’s feet ached. She could roam barefoot for miles over the countryside, but put her in boots and treading floorboards, and her feet protested. Earning your coin on your back was less exhausting. “I had a quiet word with Daisy and Mrs McGaffin and mentioned you were looking for any sort of employment, legal or not. Gaffie is going to talk to her son, Jimmy. I have the impression he is on the wrong side of the law.”

  “Let us hope the hints we drop lead us to the right smugglers. Ours will be less concerned with French brandy than importing the enemy’s magical weapon—whatever it may be.” Ewan dropped his jacket over the back of a chair and pulled off his Hessians.

  “But if it is magical, the weapon could very well be the brandy. Wouldn’t that be the perfect disguise for it?” Alice struggled to keep her eyes open as bed called her name. “I think I will turn in. I need to sleep since I will be walking a hundred miles again tomorrow night.”

  Hour by hour they learned to live together. Such a cramped space forced intimacy, and it was hard to undress without seeing each other. Ewan turned his back as Alice slipped off her dress and short stays. Likewise, Alice averted her gaze as he removed his shirt. Well, she looked a little. He was a finely crafted specimen. To ignore a disrobed Ewan would be akin to ignoring a statue from ancient Rome. It just didn’t seem right.

  Ewan refused to take the bed, leaving that for Alice. He laid out his bedroll by the fire and settled down. Alice carried the candle over and set it on a chair positioned by the bed.

  “Good night,” she whispered as she slipped under the blankets. Eilidh jumped up and took her usual position next to Alice.

  She didn’t hear if Ewan answered; exhaustion had already swept her away.

  14

  Ewan

  * * *

  Ewan awoke to a flashback of a dead horse tumbling over him, pinning his wolf to the ground as pain engulfed his body. Then the pressure shifted. As he opened his eyes, he saw Eilidh get up from his side and pad to the door. No dead horse, just a terrier who felt like one. How did Alice sleep with the dog burrowed against her?

  The damn floor was harder than the cold ground they had slept on for days, and his damaged body took exception to his position. He sucked in a breath as he tried to roll over and fire radiated out from the bullet lodged in his leg. He needed to find a mattress, or he would be a cripple by the end of the week.

  “Tonight you either sleep in the bed with me, or I will lie on the floor next to you.” Alice’s voice came from outside his line of sight.

  He would have grumbled, but his mind was distracted trying to dampen the pain coursing through his body. “Very well.”

  With a Herculean effort, he managed to sit up. He rubbed his hands over his face. It was probably too early to seek relief in liquor, although that would add to his seedy reputation.

  “I’m going to make you something for the pain.” Alice poked at the embers in the grate and revived the fire. Then a few strides of shapely ankles went past his view as she went to the door to let out a patient Eilidh.

&nb
sp; “No laudanum.” He hated the stuff. He’d seen people give up the will to live, lost in a haze induced by the poppy syrup.

  “It won’t be laudanum.” She pulled the bag of herbs from a shelf and then fetched the tiny pestle and mortar. The morning light through the window illuminated her outline in the thin shift as she ground a handful of herbs.

  He pondered how well a spider web described her. At first glance, one would think her delicate with her slender build and not enough flesh on her bones. But then one would see the curve of muscle, the way she walked like a fluid cat, and would realise she was all hidden strength.

  What would it be like to run his hand up naked skin, over the hill of her hip and into the valley of her waist before cresting a firm mound? She was made for pleasure, like him, and what heights they could reach together. His wolf uttered a rasp of agreement. Even as it fought its own battle with agony, it roused at the idea of naked play with Alice.

  Ewan shook his head to dispel the vision before she turned around to find him staring. Again.

  Alice had known last night when his gaze roamed her bare back. Perhaps her finding gift allowed her to latch onto wayward thoughts flung from his mind.

  He pulled his legs further under him to discover his left leg wasn’t the only stiff part of him this morning. That would teach him, although contemplating more pleasurable activities had distracted his mind from the ache deep in his bones. He levered his body up into a chair and tried to dislodge the cramps in his neck and shoulders.

  Alice unhooked the kettle from its spot over the fire and poured steaming water into a mug. A quick stir and then she placed the concoction on the table in front of him. Fragrant vapour wafted up that reminded him of how her hair smelt after she had lain in the meadow.

  “It’s mainly white willow, which will ease the pain but won’t affect your mind. There are other herbs I would give you, such as devil’s claw, to help bones heal if I can find a source. I wish I knew a herb to counteract silver.” She dropped a hand on his shoulder, then her fingers dug into his flesh. She clucked her tongue in a disapproving noise and her other hand joined the first. “You’re as stiff as a board; it’s a surprise you even managed to get off the floor.”

  While he nursed the drink, she eased some of the tension in his tight shoulders. When was the last time a woman looked after him? Not since mother, the small boy in the back of his head whispered. His cold soul basked in Alice’s ministrations. Normally whenever a woman showered him with attention, she expected something in return. Not Alice. She gave of herself completely and never expected anything from him.

  His mother would have liked Alice. She approved of an enquiring mind and had always been fascinated by the mage-blooded and their talents. Even the wild aspect of Alice’s character would have delighted his mother. No doubt she would have applauded the plan to exact revenge on brutes like Hoth and might have suggested a particular specimen to start with. If she had lived long enough.

  The cold ache settled again in his chest. He wished he could give Alice something in return. Something worthy of her. Love—a word he understood on an intellectual level, but it was a thing he could never extend to a woman.

  The wolf whimpered, mate.

  Impossible, Ewan dismissed the creature’s thought as the mad raving induced by the silver wrapped around it. He had seen three fellow wolves find their mates and an extraordinary type of love, but that was not his path. Better he and his beast remain lone wolves.

  Alice’s hands stilled and then dropped away. “I’m going to help Daisy and Gaffie in the kitchen today. We have bread and stew to make for dinner tonight.”

  He rolled his neck. The woman really did have magic fingers. “I’m going up the coast. I can take Eilidh, if you don’t mind? That way she won’t be underfoot in the tavern.”

  Alice dropped into the chair across the table from him. She wrapped her hands around a cup of tea and lifted it to her lips for a brief sip. “She would like that. It also means you will have company while I gossip with the other women.”

  “I’ll be back before the tavern gets busy tonight.” He drank his herbal tea. It tasted somewhat bitter, but if it eased his aches, he would swallow it by the gallon.

  After breakfast, Ewan took his time shaving while Alice dressed. Four days of growth was driving him to distraction, and he could not live as a shaggy mutt any longer. Shaving was a fraught activity using his left hand and the spotty job irked him. Not for the first time he wished for sufficient income to lure Perkins away from Quinn. The lout didn’t deserve a man who could offer the closest shave in England—not to mention his cravat knots rivalled Ewan’s own.

  “I could do that, if you like?” Alice offered.

  He stared at the cut-throat razor in his hand. “You do so much for me already; I feel like an imposition on your time.”

  “I enjoy my time with you and I would happily prolong it. Shaving is a skill I was taught by the madam who swept me off the London streets. It’s such an intimate act.” She took the blade from his fingers and moved to stand behind him. “Especially since we were taught to do it naked while straddling the man.”

  He was glad she held the blade, because he would have cut himself on hearing those words. Her mischievous streak crept out at times and lightened his dark mood. There was something to fuel his dreams tonight, a naked Alice on his lap while she shaved his chin.

  She placed one hand under his jaw and tipped his head back. “This gives me time to hide your features again. The spell must be reinforced each morning or it will drop completely.”

  Alice wielded the razor the same way she massaged his arm—with long, confident strokes. In no time, she had his chin smooth enough to satisfy his exacting standards. With practice, she might even rival Perkins.

  “Thank you.” He ran his good hand over his skin. A glance in the mirror showed that he no longer stared back. The other man, with eyes the colour of mud and too much flesh to ever be a cavalryman, met his gaze.

  Once they were both dressed, they left the cottage together and Ewan pulled the door shut behind them. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Until tonight,” she whispered. Then she leaned up and kissed his smooth cheek before running across the yard to the tavern.

  For the second time that morning, he stroked his face, imagining he could feel the impression her lips left. What would he do with her? Or the more accurate question, what would he do without her?

  He stood in that one spot until the terrier yapped with impatience and broke his reverie. Ewan took his time saddling the horse, playing up his limp and crippled hand. You never knew who watched, and he wanted to ensure the locals thought of him as the wounded soldier. Outside, he walked the horse to the well and used the low wall to climb into the saddle.

  Then man, horse, and dog headed north. He rode up the coast and Eilidh ran beside the gelding. At times, she would disappear into the longer grass and he would pull the horse to a halt until he caught sight of her silken ears bouncing up and down as she chased some rabbit or field mouse.

  Somewhere along the isolated stretch of the edge of England he would encounter his contact, far away from prying eyes and eavesdropping ears. He hoped for information on the smuggling gangs that operated along the coast and which one was being used by the traitor.

  Aster had decoded the French messages relaying that the weapon was ready to be shipped into England via known smuggling routes. A rare lapse by Forge had resulted in the discovery of the drained body, and that in turn led to the Dancing Sow. It was too coincidental for another vampyre to be in the area. It had to confirm that Forge hid from the sunlight somewhere in the region.

  But what was the French weapon? British intelligence had failed to turn up any whisper as to what they planned to unleash. They only possessed one clue—that it could be unloaded by small boats under the cover of night. Ewan’s money was on something contained within brandy barrels. Poison, perhaps?

  He sat and looked out over the ocean. The wa
ter was calm, with only a few fluffy white peaks breaking the expanse of dark blue. Grey patches on the surface were echoes of the clouds high above. Far off, as a distant smudge on the horizon, you could just see the shadow of France.

  Was there a boat out there, even now sailing towards England with a magical cargo meant to injure decent English folk in their homes? The men working for Forge probably had no idea they did the bidding of France. But at least one knew he followed the commands of a vampyre.

  A yip from next to the horse’s hooves pulled his thoughts from the miasma rising off the ocean to the grass underneath him.

  “What is it, girl?” he asked the little terrier. Her ears rose as she gazed back down the road.

  Ewan glanced at the approaching rider then turned back to watch the seagulls wheeling over the water. He feigned disinterest but relied on his senses other than sight to tell him if the horse would approach or carry on past him.

  The regular pound of hoof on solid earth slowed and then stopped.

  “Evans?” a voice called out.

  Ewan turned. The other rider was better dressed than most ruffians, so this was no smuggler. He was also clean shaven with a bright blue jacket.

  “Yes,” Ewan answered. To those in this county he was Sean Evans, he couldn’t risk his true name being overhead by dead ears.

  The other man rode closer so they could talk without raising their voices, but not so close you could lunge at the other without falling off the side of your mount. The stranger dropped his hands to his horse’s wither and, while he appeared relaxed, he kept a tense set to his shoulders. “We have a mutual interest in this coastline.”

  “It does grow a fascinating selection of flowers; I believe that one is an Aster.” Code phrases were often somewhat embarrassing, but it was no coincidence that this one contained a reference to both an ordinary purple flower and an unusual woman.