The following morning, Siofra did not wake with thoughts of escaping to the Forbidden Wood. She couldn’t shake the feeling that some horrific happenstance was eminent, and Rob Redgrave was at the heart of it, or rather, the troll was at the heart of it and Rob would find himself in deep waters. If he yet lived.
No! She couldn’t think that. Rob was well and good. He had to be. Because if he wasn’t, it was entirely her fault for poking the bear.
How could she go about verifying that Rob was at home? He had no sisters, and she could think of no reason to suddenly call on his mother. Siofra hadn’t made any calls since the death of her parents. To suddenly arrive at the doorstep of the countess and demand entrance would be regarded poorly.
She sat up in bed. Maeve. Or Kelley, perhaps. Surely someone in her employ knew someone in the employ of the Earl. She hopped out of bed and clambered down the stairs.
When she burst into the kitchen, Mrs. Sgot was the only person in the room, and she was just stirring the embers of the yawning fireplace. “You’re too early,” she said.
Siofra nodded. She hadn’t bothered to check the clock. “I can wait. Do you need help with…something?”
Mrs. Sgot snorted, but she handed Siofra the kettle. Siofra primed the pump and filled the kettle with water then set it on the stove. While she waited, she eyed Mrs. Sgot. The woman never seemed to stop moving. “Does he have any weaknesses? I mean…the troll. In the fairy tales, I’ve read—”
“Stuff and nonsense.”
“There must be some basis for…for the things that…um…go on in the Forbidden Wood. I mean…it’s forbidden, after all. Doesn’t anyone know anything?”
“Iron.”
“Iron? Like from a forge?”
Mrs. Sgot pointed a wooden spoon at the massive black iron pot, hanging over the fire, keeping a ready source of water warmed. “Anything iron, but he can smell it before you’d ever get close enough to use it.”
“Trolls don’t like iron.”
“Iron nullifies magic and depletes strength. Use enough of it, and it kills.”
“It kills trolls?”
Maeve wandered in, yawning. “Iron is poison to all fey creatures, Miss. Do ye not know anythin’?”
“Apparently not.” Like how did Mrs. Sgot use a giant black kettle every day and not feel the negative results of iron? Not that Siofra would ask, with Maeve in the room. She gasped. Maeve was in the room! “Maeve! Do you know anyone who works for the Earl? Does Kelley? I simply must know…”
“If young Master Rob is well?”
“Exactly.”
“I say we send Morg to inquire.”
“What reason would he give for his request?”
Maeve handed Siofra a steaming cup of tea. “Do we need a reason?”
“It would be expected. Wouldn’t you wonder if someone suddenly showed up at our door and asked about me?”
“’Twould depend on whether or no’ the caller were a gentleman…but I see what ye mean.”
The clop-clop of Kelley’s half-boots sounded from the pantry, and she popped through the doorway. “I couldna’ help but overhear, Miss. Ole Jenny, what does the washing fer the Earl, would likely be helpful. Has a soft spot for Mr. Rob, she does.”
And just like that, Siofra’s help had devised a way for her to determine the safety of Rob Redgrave. How one household of domestics knew all there was to know about another household of domestics was beyond her. They had a gossip vine as deeply entrenched as any members of the ton.
While she waited for Kelley to return, she pondered the use of iron against the fey. Could she have injured Lysander with iron? She thought of her small steel knife. She could just as easily have carried around something iron. Odd, he didn’t mention avoiding something so lethal. But then, Mrs. Sgot worked around the iron cookware every day. Was it as dangerous as Maeve claimed?
“Mrs. Sgot, you mentioned the danger of iron. How is it that you cook with ironware vessels?”
“Like Maeve told ye, in small quantities, iron cancels magic. No magic is used to cook and clean in this kitchen. I use sturdy wooden spoons.” She pointed at hooks over the shelf. “And copper or brass pots whenever possible. The large water cauldron is always too hot to touch, anyways. When it needs a thorough scrapin’, Morg takes it out.”
Siofra nodded. There was most likely enough iron in this kitchen to cancel out anyone’s magic. A very safe spot to sit…for her. Unless… Her spine stiffened. Was she a changeling? Could touching iron be hazardous to her health as well? She reached underneath the shelf for some iron tongs.
Swift as a raging river, Mrs. Sgot slapped her wrist with a wooden spoon. “Do ye want to burn yer fingers?”
Yes, she did. Like a child told not to do something, Siofra’s fingers itched to touch the iron. Would it really hurt? How had she managed to live her entire life without ever once touching iron?
She dropped back into her chair and held her hands together. “What if Morg visited the foundry for some iron filings?”
“And just what would ye do wit’ em, me wily lass?”
“Mrs. Sgot, I think it’s time I learned to bake a cake, a very fragrant cake.”
Mrs. Sgot stared into space a moment then turned back to kneading bread. “It might work at that.”
Kelley stumbled in, sniffling and dabbing her eyes with her apron. “’E’s gone, Miss. ‘E met that banker yesterday morn, came back to pack ‘is things, and took the mail post fer London.”
“Whyever would Rob take the mail post when he could take his father’s carriage?” Siofra asked.
“’E were in that much of a hurry. The earl be gone with the carriage.” Kelley sniffed again.
Siofra drummed her fingers on the table. Why did all the young men of the village run off to London and disappear? Was Mr. Paorach innocent, after all? Then again, what could he have said to Rob that would convince him to leave for London, right after Rob told Siofra he intended to take a position with the banker? Something didn’t make sense.
“No. I don’t believe it. Did anyone see Rob get on the mail post?”
Kelley’s head lifted, her eyes rounding with hope. “No one from the big house, that I know.”
“Kelley, find Maeve. We’re going to town. Between the three of us, we should be able to question every shopkeeper on the square. Someone must have seen what happened.” She reached for Mrs. Sgot’s hand. “When you see Morg, please send him to the foundry for the uh…supplies we need.”
Mrs. Sgot nodded, and Siofra rushed upstairs to retrieve her gloves. On the way down, she almost stumbled into Lady Gretchen.
“Siofra, decorum. A lady does not stomp up and down the stairs. And where are you running to, child?”
“The shops. After the fittings yesterday, I feel the need to browse for ribbons and lace. May I get you anything?”
“Thank you, no.”
Siofra rounded on her guardian again. “Lady Gretchen, did you ever notice that Mr. Paorach is partial to a particular cake? Ginger lemon? Rosewater and almond?”
“Lavender, but why do you ask?”
Siofra raised one shoulder. “I am wondering what young men favor. If we are to have callers again, we should be prepared.”
“Ah, yes. Is there some young man in particular? I believe I heard Rob Redgrave’s name mentioned somewhere in the household.”
“No one special. I’ll see you later.”
With Maeve and Kelley at her side, Siofra approached the center of town. “We should start at the posting station. If someone saw Rob, our task may be over before it begins.”
They questioned every person inside then spread to the surrounding area. The hostler who changed out the horses, the boy who swept up the hay, even the lackey who shoveled horse droppings from the lane. But no one saw Rob Redgrave board that carriage. No one even saw him arrive in the square with, or without, traveling bags.
Siofra wasn’t sure whether or not that made her thankful or afraid. No one knew where Rob might be and there wasn’t any way she could chase after a carriage headed for London. She would have to assume Rob never boarded that mail coach. That would mean the troll had hidden him somewhere. Siofra couldn’t accept the possibility that he might already be dead. Not Rob!
Siofra straggled through the back door of her home, with Maeve and Kelley trailing behind. If only Lysander could render aid, but she wasn’t sure how she could reach him. There was no time to walk to the Forbidden Wood and back.
Lord, if there is a way to remove this creature from our midst, please show me. Guide my hand because I have no idea what I’m doing. Give me eyes to see what’s hidden.
While Mrs. Sgot gathered the ingredients for a lavender cake, Siofra penned a note to Mr. Paorach.
Dear Sir,
There is much we should discuss now that six months of my mourning have passed. I am certain we could—
She paused then crumpled the missive in her hands. She would go in person. Accusing someone of kidnapping and murder was not something she could write about. Might some underling at the bank read his letters before passing them on? She couldn’t risk it.
Morg traipsed into the kitchen and dropped a drawstring leather bag on the worn surface of the table. His eyes met Siofra’s. “Should I stay? My missus says I’m a fair cook.”
Siofra’s heart sank. She regarded his wrinkled features, slightly hunched shoulders, and the dusty attire that had seen better days. He spent tireless hours in the garden, something he always seemed to enjoy. Why would he risk his life, why would all her staff risk their lives, so she could fight Mr. Paorach? If she failed, if she was wrong, they would lose what little reputation they had in the world. Her invasive questions in the marketplace had already subjected her entire household to speculation. She wouldn’t add to their burdens.
She shook her head. “No one but me will make this cake. I alone am responsible for confronting Mr. Paorach.”
He awkwardly patted her arm then retreated outdoors.
With Mrs. Sgot dictating instructions, Siofra measured and stirred until she had a batter that satisfied her tutor. “Is it ready for the iron?” she asked.
Mrs. Sgot slid a glass vial across the table. “This will mask the odor of the iron.”
“Is it magic?”
“Not everything requires magic. It’s oil of lavender I’ve been savin’ up. Has a fair strong scent.”
Siofra shook the precious droplets over the bowl’s contents then with gentle movements, poured the iron dust into the batter and stirred. The cake would be so gritty Mr. Paorach wouldn’t desire a second bite. She’d have to make sure his first taste was sizeable.
Now came the waiting. An hour, at least. After she’d drummed her fingers on the table and been reprimanded by Mrs. Sgot at least three times, the old brownie heaved a sigh. “Get yerself upstairs and put on something nice. Men like attractive hostesses along with their cake.”
“But I have only black mourning.”
“Pin some lace on it. Fix yer hair. Wear some scent. That will throw him off smelling the iron in the cake. Landsakes, child, it’s as if ye forgot how to woo a man. Ye’re not dead just because ye lost yer parents.” She laid her hand over Siofra’s. “It’s alright to live again, Siofra.”
Siofra’s eyes welled with tears. That was the first time Mrs. Sgot had ever called her by name.
She was loved. She’d spent so much of her time the last months regretting what she didn’t have or couldn’t do that she hadn’t appreciated her blessings at all. She nodded at Mrs. Sgot and retreated to her room.
She followed all Mrs. Sgot’s instructions, even adding a broad white lace fichu to her dress that she pinned together with a large golden broach from her mother’s jewelry box. If trolls liked the smell of gold, he would certainly be more interested in the jewelry than the odor of iron in the cake.
Now to get past Lady Gretchen and Miss Dawd, ensconced in the morning room as if they expected visitors at any moment. How many lace handkerchiefs had Miss Dawd embroidered in the last three months? More than any woman’s nose would ever need, surely.
Siofra crept down the back stairs again and gained the kitchen almost silently. “Will I do?” she whispered.
Mrs. Sgot smoothed her hands over her apron and looked Siofra up and down, nodding when she caught sight of the gold, but frowning when she noted Siofra’s bare hands.
“Oh!” Siofra quickly raised her reticule and pulled out her gloves. “I also have your gold piece.”
Once her hands were neatly enshrined, Mrs. Gott handed over the cloth covered bundle. “No matter what he says, do not eat the cake.”
Siofra hadn’t thought of that. It would seem odd if she didn’t have cake as well. “Yes…I mean no, I won’t.”
With that decided, she was ready to go. Mr. Hudgins tapped at the kitchen door. “The coach is ready, Miss.”
“And Lady Gretchen…Miss Dawd?”
“Enjoying a cup of tea. I took the liberty of closing the door to the morning room. Drafty, it was.”
“Very good, Hudgins.” Was there anyone in her employ who wasn’t party to this charade?
Even with the door closed, Siofra tiptoed past the room and eased her way out the front door. Once she’d settled herself on the seat, Hudgins handed the cake back to her. He tipped his head, and she was off.
Was she making a dreadful nuisance of herself? If only she had Lysander’s calming presence beside her. If he could fight wolves, he could defeat this troll. But then, if he could defeat the troll, why had they let him loose on her village for so long?
The coach trundled over a deep rut in the road, and Siofra settled the cake closer.
What if this had been her fight all along? What if all those months of feeling restricted by society, wanting something more, had given her the boldness to stand on her own? Lysander had given her hope again, but she wasn’t weak without him. Considering that she may never see him again, she had best be capable of dealing with life as it was.
The coach rolled to a stop, and Morg opened the door. One side of his mouth rose in a smile that lifted a fair bit of weight from Siofra’s heart. “I’ll be right here, Miss.”
With that, Siofra sailed forth to defeat her giant.
When she passed through the doors of the bank, she took a deep cleansing breath. A clerk immediately appeared at her side, one brow raised as if he wasn’t sure why a solitary young woman would enter a financial institution.
“Sean Caimbeul, at your service.”
“I’m here to see Mr. Paorach. He told me to drop by anytime.”
He frowned, obviously debating whether or not to ask for her name and if she had an appointment. Before he came to a conclusion, a loud barking voice brought a jolt up his entire frame.
“Caimbeul, why do you have Miss Blàrach waiting at the door?”
Quick, lumbering steps made an echo on the tiled floor as Mr. Paorach advanced.
“I wasn’t…I mean I was just bringing her to you, sir,” Mr. Caimbeul said, his voice trembling.
“It’s entirely my fault, Mr. Paorach,” Siofra smiled sweetly, thinking of lambs in spring, babies with their mothers, anything but the hulking frame before her. Had he grown since she’d seen him last?
This wouldn’t do. Wouldn’t do at all. There was no way she could carry out her plans with so many innocent bystanders. What if he became violent?
She gave her head a little shake and lifted her offering. “You mentioned that we might go for another drive. I brought cake! It’s such a lovely day.” Was it a lovely day? She’d scarcely noticed. Anyway, it wasn’t raining.
His eyes narrowed on the cake, and her heart beat three times as fast, but his gaze lifted to her mother’s gold broach and remained there. Yes, look at the gold. Love the gold.
“I have my coach outside…and a blanket so we could sit on the ground and share the cake.”
“No need. My own curricle is more open. We can enjoy the air while we drive.”
Him. In control. She swallowed hard and tried to meet his eyes without shaking. “Lovely.”
“I’ll just be a moment,” he said to Siofra then focused on Caimbeul. “Call for my curricle.” Then he disappeared in his office.
Caimbeul walked away without a backward glance, and Siofra was left on her own.
Lord, help me see my way through this. Give me eyes to see the truth.
She found herself in the curricle before she had an opportunity to explain to Morg. Would he notice that she’d already left? Would he worry when she didn’t return? If only Morg didn’t go charging into the bank, looking for her.
Mr. Paorach edged closer on the seat, and Siofra fought rising hysteria. She could do this.
Once they reached the edge of town, he whipped up the ponies, and Siofra reached frantically for her bonnet. Where was he headed? If he didn’t slow down, they would end up at the Forbidden Wood.
But he pulled the ponies up and stopped at the little bridge to the loch. He twisted on the seat to focus his dark penetrating eyes on hers. “Now, Siofra, my dear, why this sudden desire for my company? Missing the Redgrave pup already?”
Nothing like going to the heart of it. She stared into his eyes, and she could swear they changed color, gleaming coals of black. “Rob is two years behind me, Mr. Paorach. He’s never been anything but a friend, but I wouldn’t want him to come to harm.” She lifted the cake. “My gift, baked by my own hands. Doesn’t one good turn deserve another? Surely, if anyone knows what happened to Rob Redgrave, it’s you.”
“I’d rather sample the wares before I commit myself.” He grabbed behind Siofra for the blanket.
With his back turned, Siofra set the cake in the seat so she could climb down from the curricle herself. When he turned toward her, he frowned but didn’t comment. After spreading the blanket very near the base of the bridge, he held out his hand, indicating she should sit.
It wasn’t easy settling herself on the ground while balancing a cake, but she managed. Anything was preferable to letting him put his paws on her. He landed with less force than she would expect for such a large figure and eyed her expectantly. For some reason, she’d expected him to be more…more like a troll.
Lord? I don’t know what to do.
“Now, Mr. Paorach, why is it that all the young men from our village disappear after being seen with you?” That was merely a guess, but he didn’t have to know. “Where is Rob? I’ve brought you this marvelous cake. Should we trade favors?”
“And what makes you think cake will put me in your debt?”
“It’s your favorite.” Siofra shifted off a particularly lumpy spot on the ground. She unwrapped the cake and held up a hefty piece. “I could feed it to you, if you like.” She smiled broadly, hoping her eyes looked enticing.
“I don’t know what game you’re playing, Siofra, but I’ll play along. Rob Redgrave is safely entrenched in my cellar, where he’s learning a valuable lesson in patience.” The deep timbre of his voice and narrowed eyes had Siofra wondering if he intended just such a fate for her.
He opened his mouth, and Siofra shoved the cake in his fat gullet. Holding her breath, she rocked back on her heels. The transformation that came over Mr. Paorach shocked her to the core.
She heard the grinding sound as he chewed the iron in the cake, the growl that began deep in his chest and exploded as a roar. One minute he was an overly large, smelly man, the next he was a gargantuan monster with sharp, pointed teeth, yellowed and stained. Even his eyes were yellow and rimmed in red, but his skin took on a dark grey tinge. Was he turning green? He towered over her, but he hadn’t even stood. He had grown!
His thick paws reached for her throat as blood dripped from his mouth. Siofra quickly shoved the whole cake at his mouth, batting at his hands in the process as he tried to pull the cake out. Her puny strength was no match for him as he propelled her backwards. He held her down as he leaned over her, roaring with rage. Surely her ribcage would snap under the pressure!
The moment she opened her mouth to scream, he rubbed the cake into her mouth. It burned as if he’d poured acid on her tongue. She choked, trying to roll to the side, and then he was off her. Choking and gagging, she lifted her head in time to see the troll stagger back and shudder. His arms fell at his sides and stiffened. His entire form went rigid then he toppled over and broke into pieces like a boulder shattering into bits.
In seconds, terror struck Siofra. Was she going to shatter into a million shards? She rubbed her gloved hands at her mouth, spitting out as much of the crumbs as she could. “Help!” she choked out. “Lysander!” Her voice was barely a whisper now. She was so dizzy she could no longer see the blanket on the ground. Was she dying? Her head dropped back and the world went black.