Vincent awoke slowly, his eyes gently flickering open as he tried to adjust to the dim light of the cabin. He knew where he was. It was impossible to forget. The fire had kept them warm enough, though the flames had petered out in the early hours, and although that kept the worst of the chill from the cabin, it was by no means comfortable. The floor was hard and uneven, unforgiving even for the exhausted, and as Vincent forced himself into a sitting position he could feel the ache set into his bones.
Slowly, he twisted his neck from side to side, hoping to loosen stiff joints. His head was first angled towards the poorly boarded window, and he sighed at the sight of grey clouds lining the sky. His head swivelled to the other side, looking back into the cabin, and his gaze was instantly caught by the pair lying a few strides from him.
Mutt seemed overjoyed, even in sleep. Lying on his back, head tilted and mouth ajar with a small pink tongue poking from between his teeth, his bedraggled grey and black body rose and fell with every breath. As his unconscious twitching edged him across the floor, the arm around his middle was quick to pull him back in tightly. And each time, he let out a very un-dog-like sigh of contentment.
Thomas, for his part, was also oblivious to this dance. He was lying on his side, Mutt clutched to his chest, with his head pillowed by his free arm. His hair had dried as it fell, the ends curling tightly in random directions, but leaving his face relatively bare. He slept without a frown, a smile, or even an eyebrow quirk.
It was the first time Vincent had seen him look peaceful.
He looked beautiful.
Vincent blinked once, slowly, processing that thought. It was not untrue. By any standard, the man could be considered handsome. But there, sleeping, without a joke or a wall between them... It felt like the first time he was truly seeing Thomas.
As much as he hadn't expected the thought, there was a quivering feeling in his belly that was even more surprising. His hand floated to his abdomen, holding the unknown emotion in, as Thomas let out a low groan and stretched.
Vincent felt himself flush and rose quickly to collect his clothing.
The man on the floor let out a low curse after a moment.
"Who would have guessed that floorboards weren't as good for you as a downy mattress, eh?" he said, though mostly to himself. Absently, he patted Mutt's stomach, and the animal raised a sleepy head to smile toothily at him. By the time he turned his tousled head to Vincent, the other man had just pulled his shirt into place. "Good morning."
Vincent's stomach gave another kick, and he frowned. He issued one perfunctory nod, and then set about putting on his shoes. He felt Thomas' eyes follow him around the room.
"Did you manage to sleep?"
Vincent tugged a boot on, wincing at the still damp leather, and nodded again. There was a huff.
"I'd never have guessed you were such poor company in the mornings!"
Vincent stilled, one boot half-laced. Thomas was right; he was uncomfortable â confused â and being rude. He straightened slowly, swallowing down the emotions he couldn't name. Thomas was still sitting, his elbows propped on his knees as he absently scratched Mutt's head. His gaze was locked on Vincent, both brows raised.
His mouth opened and closed a couple of times before the words came out. "Good morning, Thomas."
The other man's grin was instantaneous. "Now that's better."
.
Without food or other comforts to stall them, Vincent and Thomas made quick work of dressing, and were soon stepping out of the cabin into the overcast but otherwise much improved weather. Once again, they walked in companionable silence. Vincent was initially worried that the detour to the cabin had added even more time to their trip, but in the light of day they were able to avoid the worst of the mud and obstacles and made excellent time. In only twenty minutes, they were back at the Humphrey fence-line, and by Vincent's estimate only two hours from home.
Though grateful that it wasn't raining, both men were far from comfortable. Their shoes chaffed, their pants were wet to at least the knee after only a few steps, and every so often the wind would shake a tree and send a cascade of leaves and droplets down upon them.
It was a fine distraction, then, when Mutt stopped still suddenly, almost tripping Thomas. The man caught himself on a tree, too distracted to curse what rained down on him. "What's the matter?" The dog cocked its head to the side. "Do you hear something?" Thomas grinned up Vincent. "Perhaps I've accidentally bought myself a hunting dog."
Vincent thought it unlikely; though the Humphrey estate boasted lively fishing, there were no deer to speak of. Before he could voice that thought, the dog took off running.
Wasting only a moment for a frustrated cry of, "Mutt!", Thomas sprinted after the animal, bounding over rocks and fallen branches as he tried to keep pace with him. Mutt was surprisingly spry for such an underfed animal, and dashed through the landscape with ease. Vincent trudged after them with a sigh. On horseback, he was a force to be reckoned with. On foot, he was careful not to break his neck, particularly given the last night's weather.
Thankfully, between the mud, Mutt's frantic barking, and the occasional curse from Thomas, it was easy enough to follow them through the woods. As he jumped over a tree trunk, he found them standing at the base of a steep incline, Mutt happily restrained in Thomas' arms. Thomas, for his part, was staring at the ground.
Vincent shook his head slightly as the dog panted happily at him. "What did he find?" he asked, ambling closer. "A badger's den?"
Thomas' head jerked up, whipping towards him as if he hadn't realised he'd arrived. "Vincent-"
The other man didn't hear the warning in his tone until it was too late. He looked at the ground as he stepped closer, trying to peer behind the large rocks that blocked his view. He was expecting a burrow or perhaps the carcass of some poor creature that had not survived the winter.
But that was not the body he encountered.
She lay at the bottom of the hill, her neck contorted in an unnatural position, but any obvious injury hidden by her long black hair as it draped over her shoulder. Her skin had the slightest blue tinge, with dried scrapes and tears cutting across her knees and palms. Her dress â plain, stained cotton â was torn, and one shoe was missing. Worse still, her eyes were open, staring darkly up at them with no hint of life.
He would have liked to say she looked peaceful, but that would have been a lie.
"Gabriela," he said softly, unsure himself whether it was a comment, guess, or question. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Thomas nod. It was a safe inference; between her colouring, her clothing, and her presence on the Humphrey estate, there were few others she could be mistaken for.
Vincent felt his stomach clench. Thomas turned to the side suddenly, bending at the waist as he began to retch. They had not eaten, there was nothing to come up, but it still took him several minutes to calm his heaving stomach, one hand braced on his knee, the other clutching Mutt to his side. The dog looked somewhat alarmed.
The other man offered no comment.
Eventually, Thomas straightened, dragging the back of one hand across his mouth. He turned slowly back to the body, his gaze deliberately avoiding looking at the woman. "Do you think it was an accident?"
Vincent nodded. They would need to send for the constable when they reached the house, but it looked that way. The cold had preserved Gabriela's body considerably, and apart from cuts and bruises he attributed to the fall, there was no evidence of another attack.
"A tragedy."
Vincent nodded again. She left behind so many unanswered questions; who was the father of her child? Why had she run away? Why had she decided to go to the Humphreys? She left behind...
"Isabela," he said, almost on a whisper.
They exchanged a look. A look that voiced their concern, their shock, and their utter confusion. Then they began walking again, perhaps a little quicker than before.
.
Pressing open the servants' entrance where it faced the stables was accompanied by an overwhelming sense of relief. There had been no danger â for them, at least â but they were cold, dishevelled, and still reeling from the discovery of Gabriela's body. As Thomas moved ahead of him, Mutt held in his arms to prevent his skinny legs tracking mud throughout the Humphrey home and earning the ire of the housekeeper, Vincent glanced down at the step. It had only been a week and a half since he'd found Isabela lying half-frozen where he now stood. And yet somehow he had even more questions than he had then.
They reached the foyer before someone discovered them.
"Vin, Thomas!" Matt was halfway down the stairs, taking them two at a time to join them in the foyer. He stopped a few inches from embracing his brother, as if suddenly noticing their dishevelled states and the thick layer of mud and grime that coated them from head to toe. His eyebrows shot up. "What the dickens happened to you?"
The question set a wave of exhaustion through both men, and they let out soft sighs. The twinned gesture might have been amusing if they'd had more energy; instead, they looked at each other and shared a moment of... comradery? Vincent wasn't sure what it was, but it was easy and simple.
They were spared from replying to Matt's question, as an ear-splitting wail pierced the air. Vincent and Thomas flinched. Matt's eye twitched.
"She's been like that since you've been gone," he said from between clenched teeth. His tone turned pleading. "I don't suppose-"
Vincent was already nodding. He wondered briefly if he'd have been so willing had they not made the discovery they had that morning.
As if he knew his thoughts, Thomas reached out to gently clasp his shoulder. Then with the other hand he held his newly acquired pet out to Matt. "This is Mutt. If you can muster up some scraps for him, I'm sure he'd be grateful."
Matt took the dog easily enough, stroking the skinny creature's back even as it covered him in dirt.
"I... The..." Vincent combed the hair out of his face with his fingers. "Once we've bathed and changed, we will meet you and our brothers in Simon's study. We have a lot to tell you."
His brother acknowledged that with a wide-eyed dip of his head. "Indeed! We expected you yesterday, but when only-"
Thomas stepped between them, his brow quirked. "Are we bathed and changed?"
Matt returned the raised eyebrow with one of his own, his lips pursing together as he fought to hold off a smile. "No."
"Then perhaps the tale will wait, as Vincent suggested."
There was no tension between the two of them â Matt backed off easily with a snort and a bow â but the interaction still had the hairs on Vincent's arms standing on end. Usually, it was Matt who defended him. Whether he needed it or not, his younger brother would interject on his behalf and interrupt when others were rude to him. No one had ever tried to defend him from Matt before. It was... odd.
He shook himself from the confusion and climbed the stairs after Thomas. Rather than go directly to his room, he set off to the nursery. Although the screeching had stopped, there was an desperate crying that grew louder as he approached. Opening the door felt like getting hit by a downpour all over again, though this time it was the heartbroken cries of a child who didn't know her mother was dead.
As he stepped inside, he was met with the back of a familiar woman, who bobbed up and down as she tried to soothe the babe. She seemed to notice him as the door swung shut with a slight thud behind him.
"Matthew William Humphrey, if you so much as think of-" Aunt Jemima cut off abruptly as she turned, her scowl instantly disappearing as her brows rose. Though she was surprised to see him, her movements did not so much as pause. "Oh, Vincent!"
Whether it was her tone or his name, it seemed to upset the babe in her arms further, pushing the soft sobs over a cliff into outright screams of upset. Rather than reply, Vincent just stared at the small bundle; he could understand Matt's exasperation now.
Jemima cheek twitched, but she just kept bouncing. "Yes, the poor darling has been quite distraught since you've been away. The only time she soothes is when she's feeding, and even that doesn't last too long, I'm afraid."
Vincent heard something in her tone and glanced up at her face. She looked tired. Her round face had deep shadows beneath the eyes, her usually rosy cheeks dragging down even as she smiled at him. The shine of her blond hair was missing, or perhaps he could not see it properly, drawn as it was into a tight bun.
She looked exhausted.
Vincent felt a surprising wave of irritation rise in him; where were his brothers as their aunt struggled so? In calling their aunt the night of Isabela's arrival, he had not meant to place the entire burden of the child on her.
He held out his arms as he stepped closer.
"She... The... I'll take her now, Aunt Jemima. Please, go rest."
She was passing him the babe even as she protested. "Are you sure, Vincent? You look quite tired yourself. I'm sure she'll settle soon..."
He just nodded.
Aunt Jemima was hesitant, but slowly left the room, closing the doors to the nursery firmly behind her. Vincent directed his full attention to the infant in his arms. She was red in the face from all her crying, her arms writhing near her face with her fists clenched tightly. Someone had found or perhaps made new clothing for her, and had dressed her in a little yellow dress. She'd all but squirmed out of the matching blanket.
Vincent decided to begin there. The blanket was caught up between his arm and he back, and as he rocked her slightly towards him her cries lessened slightly. Still deeply unsure of the rules for holding a baby, he cautiously rolled her onto her stomach, laying her down the length of his arm so he could not drop her.
She quietened more.
The blanket was now easily retrieved and draped around her again, and he swaddled her tightly to prevent her hands from escaping again. Right-way up, she stared up at him with eyes that reminded him of...
Suddenly hit by exhaustion, Vincent moved directly to the armchair. Sinking into it and resting the little girl along his legs. Her cries were reduced to soft whimpers now, but somehow these hurt more.
"I'm sorry." Vincent hadn't known he'd meant to speak. "I'm sorry for... your loss." He felt silly talking to the child, but who else could he explain her circumstances to? She had no guardian, no father â or at least no father worth having â and although Vincent could understand why the other Spanish women did not ask for her to be returned to them, it still left the girl alone. "Your mother is dead. We believe your father to be involved in illegal activity. Your countrymen are in no position to reclaim you." He had no other words. "I'm sorry."
It was pure coincidence, Vincent assured himself, that a single tear broke free from Isabela's eye then, carving a path across her splotchy tanned cheek. He caught it with his thumb, gently stroking away the emotion.
"But, your mother chose a safe place for you. This family will do right by you. Thomas will..." his lip twitched at the corner. "Thomas will fight your battles for you. And I will..." She blinked slowly, her eyes at half-mast. "I will be your safe port in a storm, Isabela."
The tiny little girl let out a heavy sigh that belied the size of her lungs.
Vincentcouldn't help but smile.
~~~
Hello Lovely Readers!
Apologies for the massive delay with this chapter - I had a few events followed by exams, but I am now officially done with all of that and will now have some fabulous writing time... I hope...
xx Flo