A sharp intake of breath broke the silence. Magnus spun to find Isabelle standing in the doorway. From the horrified expression on her face, it was clear she’d seen everything.
Her eyes were wide with shock, her pale skin nearly translucent under the harsh glow of the forge fire. Her gaze moved from Magnus to the whimpering man on the ground and back again.
“Isabelle,” he said softly, reaching a hand towards her. “I—”
Her eyes flicked up to meet his. Her mouth worked but no words came out. Then she spun on her heel and fled.
The blacksmith laughed, his voice wheezing and broken. “Ye scared her away, big man. Seems she doesnae like the kind of man ye really are.”
Magnus grabbed the broken blade and slid it back into his belt before striding towards the door. He did not look back at the blacksmith sprawled on the floor, nor listened to his pained gasps.
Once outside, he scanned the crowded streets frantically. He was tall enough to see over most heads, but Isabelle was nowhere in sight.
Curse it all!
Guilt knotted his stomach. He knew what he had done was necessary; lives were at stake and time was of the essence. But that did nothing to alleviate the bitter sting of shame that twisted his insides. He had not wanted Isabelle to see any of that. He had not wanted her to see the kind of man he really was.
Untying Snaffles and the horse from where they were tethered to a post, he set off at an urgent run.
IZZY HAD NO IDEA WHEREshe was going. All she knew was that she had to get away from the forge, from the terrified blacksmith, and from Magnus.
Fragments of what she’d witnessed in the forge danced before her eyes as she hurried through the muddy streets—Magnus’s brutality, the blacksmith’s fear...
She could still hear the cries of the man echoing in her ears, mingling with the deafening thrum of her heartbeat. The smell of burning iron and sweat clung to her nostrils, making her feel sick and woozy.
Stumbling into an alleyway to catch her breath, Izzy pressed herself against the rough stone wall. It was chilly here, away from the sun’s touch. Shaking hands reached up to push back stray locks of hair from her face. She had no idea where she was, but from the far end of the narrow lane, drunken laughter echoed. Startled, she turned to find a man stumbling towards her, a half-empty bottle clutched in his hand.
“Pretty lassie!” he slurred, his flushed face splitting into a grin. His lips were chapped and purpled from the cold, teeth rotting and yellow. He reeked of stale ale and unwashed body. “What are ye doing here all alone?”
Panic surged through her. Without a word, she turned on her heel and ran, bolting down another series of labyrinthine alleys lined with grimy buildings. The air grew colder, carrying with it the sharp tang of something metallic.
Turning a corner too sharply, Izzy nearly tripped over an old pallet piled with butcher’s waste. Gorge rose in her stomach at the smell and she stumbled on, deeper into a warren of ramshackle buildings whose purpose soon became chillingly clear. Blood ran in rivulets down both sides of the street and scavenger birds sat in rows on the roofs: crows, rooks, jackdaws, their grating calls shredding Izzy’s already shattered nerves. She had stumbled into the butchery district.
Pressing her hand against her mouth, Izzy ran. Yet she only ended up deeper in the maze of huts and sheds. Everywhere she looked there were slabs of meat hanging from hooks like gruesome decorations, and piles of offal swarming with flies. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to block out the morbid sight, yet the iron-rich scent of spilled blood seemed to burn her nostrils.
No, no, no,she thought, pressing her hands against her ears to stop the sounds of knives thudding into butcher’s blocks and the eager calls of the scavenger birds.This is not happening. This is not happening. Horrible, horrible, horrible.
It was like she was caught in a nightmare from which she couldn’t escape. She leaned against the side of a building, doubled over with eyes screwed tight shut, trying to stop thepanic attack that began to overcome her. But her breathing turned ragged, her heart thumped so hard she could feel it in her throat, and her hands shook uncontrollably.
No. No. No. Please.
Then dimly, she was aware of barking getting closer. Suddenly, strong arms went around her, a familiar scent drowned out the stink of blood and a deep, soothing voice spoke by her ear. “It’s all right, lass, I’ve got ye.”
Izzy didn’t respond or open her eyes as she was carried away from that awful place, away from the stink of death and the cries of carrion crows. Away from the noise and bustle of Hodwell, until the sounds around her began to change. She heard a deep, rhythmic chanting, and then blessed silence.
“Lay her down here, my boy,” said a kindly voice. She was placed on something soft and the strong arms retreated. Izzy wanted to ask them to stay, but couldn’t seem to form words. She wanted to open her eyes and see where she was but didn’t even seem capable of that.
“She’s worn out,” said the kindly voice. “And in shock. She needs rest.”
No!Izzy wanted to protest.I don’t need rest! I need to go home!
But darkness was already beginning to take her. She surrendered and let it pull her under.
