"You had sisters?" he heard a woman ask, and supposed it was this Rachel, the doctor and Etienne's wife.
"Two. One older and one younger," Beth answered, her voice soft with affection, and then on a chuckle she added, "I was the dreaded middle child."
"Oh, God, the middle child is always trouble! All the magazines say so," Rachel teased with a laugh. "What were your sisters' names?"
"Ella was the older one," Beth answered, and then added sadly, "She died of the ague when I was nine. Mom tried everything to save her--hot compresses, cold compresses, all the medicines she could get her hands on, but . . ."
"Ague was what they called fevers, right?" Rachel asked curiously. "I know it could be malaria at times too, but they also called anything with fever that, didn't they?"
"Aye," Beth admitted. "They just came on one day, fever and chills. She got hotter and weaker . . . Ella was fair burning up, but nothing would stop it. Ma even tried leeches." She was silent for a minute and Scotty waited, thinking that her accent became thicker and her speech more antiquated when she spoke of the past. He'd noticed it happened when she was upset too.
"Ella used to act as barker for our mom at market," Beth said suddenly. "She had such a clear beautiful voice. It was almost like singing."
"I'm sorry. I don't know what a barker is," Rachel admitted.
"A barker calls out about the pies, selling them." Beth paused briefly and then sang out, "'Pies! Fine, fresh penny pies! Won't you buy some pies, sir! A pie for a penny! Please, sir, won't you buy the pies!'" She ended on a chuckle and then admitted, "I took over when Ella died, but I was never as good as her."
"And your younger sister?" Rachel asked. "What was her name?"
"Little Ruthie," Beth answered, affection clear in her voice. "She was a good one. Used to nap at Mom's feet most of the time at market. Didn't fuss and such as a babe. And stayed close when she got talking gibberish and toddling around."
"Your mom took you all to the market?" Rachel asked with surprise.
"Aye, from the earliest I can remember. There weren't day care then," Beth said wryly. "So aye, Mom took us. We helped sell the pies. Helped make 'em too."
Scotty leaned against the door frame as he listened, enjoying the almost lyrical sound of her voice and the happiness he heard in it.
"Penny pies, they were. The best in London. Everyone said so," Beth added proudly.
"And your father?" Rachel asked. "What did he do?"
"Drank, mostly." Her voice was cold now and completely devoid of emotion. "He was a drunkard. Beat me mom to get the coin from her for the day's sales and then drank all night and slept the day away. He was a mean drunk too. Mom tried to shield us, but couldn't always, and we learned to move quick when he started his fists in swinging."
Scotty frowned at the picture she was drawing of her childhood. He'd seen enough men like Beth's father to know how it would have gone. Her father would have been unpredictable, laughing and teasing one minute and then in a rage the next. With a father like that the day could go from good to bad in a heartbeat, and it was impossible to know when it would happen. It left the family in a perpetual state of crisis. They might be smiling and seeming to enjoy something on the outside, but inside they were always on the alert for that change, always on the verge of fight-or-flight.
"I'm sorry," Rachel said with sincerity.
"What?" Beth sounded surprised. "Don't be. It was a long time ago. Besides, I may have lost in the father category, but me mom was a wonderful woman. Loving, and kind. She taught me to work hard and be kind to others. I don't know how many times she said to me, 'Never look down on others, Bethie, until ye've walked a mile in their shoes,' and 'Work hard, Bethie, and make yer own way. Don't depend on some worthless man to do it. They'll sore disappoint ye.'"
After a pause, Beth added, "She taught by example too. No one worked harder than me mom. We'd get home from market, and she'd start right into making the pies for the next day, even while making us dinner and such. After we ate, I'd help with making the filling for the penny pies while she concentrated on the pastry, but then she'd send us girls to bed while she worked well into the night. Come morning, Mom'd be up before all of us, firing the stove and starting in baking the pies we'd made the night before.
"That was the secret to why her pies were so popular," Beth assured her. "Others baked them the night before, putting the first batch in while they made the second batch and so on, so they were already a day old by the time they got to market. But Mom wouldn't do that. She baked them all that morning, so they'd still be warm and fresh when we got them to market."
"When did she sleep?" Rachel asked with amazement.
"Truth is, I wondered that myself sometimes," Beth admitted on a chuckle. "But there was a morning or two I caught her napping against the stove while the pies baked, so I know she did get some sleep."
"What was the market like back then?" Rachel asked with interest. "Was it in an enclosed space, or--?"
"They were starting to build those big enclosed markets then, but Tottenham were still just stalls and stands on either side of the lane, and that were us," Beth said.
Etienne shifted slightly, and for a moment, Scotty was able to see Beth. The fire had taken her hair too, but her head was already healed, and her beautiful red hair had grown back a quarter inch or more. Oddly enough, she looked lovely even without the long, rich red locks. Unlike his, her face was healed, and she looked adorable and somehow innocent and sweet as if the fire had burned her sins away.
"I used to love the market. I worked hard, but had friends there too, and on warm beautiful summer days it was great fun. However--" She paused, and he saw her grimace and give a shudder before Etienne shifted again, blocking her from view once more as she continued, "Winter was a different story. It was something awful then. So cold ye were sure yer toes and fingers'd fall off, and ye hardly sold anything anyway on those days. Those penny pies could be fresh from the oven, but by the time we got them to market they were frozen solid."
"So," Rachel asked, "when you grew up did you bake penny pies and sell them at market too? Like your mother?"
There was a brief silence, and Scotty found himself clenching his fingers as he waited for her response, and then she finally said, "Nay. The cholera took me ma and Little Ruthie when I was ten. I don't know why I didn't get it," she added. "I ate the same food as them, drank the same drinks and went all the same places. I even nursed them when they fell ill, but never got it." She paused briefly and then continued, "Unfortunately, while I'd helped with making the filling ere that, Ma never got around to teaching me to make the pastry. When they passed, I tried to take over making the pies, but . . ."
Scotty heard her give a small laugh before she admitted, "I fear ye could have hammered nails with me pies. The pastry was that hard. Course, the first day everyone was expecting me ma's usual fine fare so bought up all me pretty pies right quick. They'd missed them while me ma and Ruthie were sick and I was nursing 'em. The second day I took pies to market, they must have thought that first day's offerings were just a one-time mistake, or mayhap they were bought up by people who hadn't bought any of the ones the day before, but most of the second day's offerings sold too. But by the third day, I hardly sold any at all. I guess I was not made to be me mother."
Scotty waited tensely then, expecting Rachel to ask what she'd done then, but the question never came. Instead, Etienne's wife said, "You're looking a bit pale, Beth. I think we should give you some more blood and let you sleep."
"So are you," Magnus murmured at Scotty's side. "Are you in pain? Are the nanos starting into healing again?"
Scotty hesitated, but then nodded grimly. The pain had started several minutes ago, but he'd wanted to hear about Beth's childhood. It hadn't been what he'd expected. While he wasn't surprised at the kind of father she'd had, what she'd said about her mother had been a revelation. In truth, it sounded like she had a childhood similar to his own in some ways. Oh, certainly, there had be
en a lot of differences. He was raised a laird's heir, while she'd been the child of poor parents, scratching out a living. But Scotty had had a good and kind father and a vicious, mean whore for a mother, while Beth had had a good, kind mother and a vicious, violent drunkard for a father. They'd each had one good parent and one bad.
Scotty didn't protest when Magnus urged him back to his room. He went quietly, his thoughts in turmoil.
"Should I leave you to rest?" Magnus asked as he ushered him into his room. "Or are you well enough to talk about what to do about Beth?"
"What do you mean, do about her?" Scotty asked with a frown.
"To protect her," he explained. "This latest attack proves the one in Vancouver was not a one-off. Someone is out to get her."
"The fire at the barn was an attack on Beth?" Scotty paused at the side of the bed and turned to face him, alarm rushing through him and briefly displacing the pain that had begun to eat at him.
"Of course! You do not know," Magnus said, sounding irritated with himself. "Sit down and I'll tell you what happened."
Scotty hesitated, but then dropped to sit on the bed and waited.
It seemed to Beth that she barely drifted off to sleep when arguing voices brought her back awake. Scowling, she opened her eyes and glanced around the dark room. No one appeared to be there with her. The voices were coming from the hallway.
"I agree. Someone needs to watch her. But not you," she heard Magnus say. "You need to heal, Scotty. You are a bloody mess at the moment. You will scare the girl half to death if you go in there looking like that."
Beth's eyebrows rose and she wondered what he meant by it. Scotty was a mess? Why? Had he been hurt? No one had mentioned that when she'd woken up.
Frowning, Beth sat up and pushed the sheets and blankets aside to get out of bed. Much to her relief, the room didn't spin around her and she didn't sway on trembling legs. She was done healing for the most part, and Rachel said she just needed a good night's rest as the nanos finished the work inside her and she'd be good as new. The fact that she was no longer suffering pain had made Beth think that the healing must be over. However, Rachel said her pallor and the continued need for extra blood suggested otherwise. The nanos were still working inside, just on things that apparently didn't hurt. Perhaps even only on rebuilding their forces, but whatever the case, she should take the opportunity to rest to help them along, rather than slow their progress by giving them more work.
"Scotty, listen to me," Magnus said now. "Donny, Etienne, Mortimer, and I will take turns sitting with Beth. We will keep her safe. What you need to do now is concentrate on healing."
"I listened to ye the last time and look what happened," Scotty shot back. "She'd be fine, ye insisted. She'd have Kira and her bodyguards there with her to keep her safe, ye assured me. Besides, whoever attacked her in Vancouver wasn't likely to follow her back to Toronto, ye said. And now look! She barely escaped having her head cut off, and was damned near burned to death."
"I know. I was wrong," Magnus said soothingly. "I will not make the same mistake twice, though. Obviously whoever attacked her in Vancouver has followed her back here. We will keep an eye on her now and we will look into who it could be. I am just saying that you should concentrate on healing yourself. Just for the next twenty-four hours. The worst of your healing should be over by then and you can--"
"I can heal and watch her too," Scotty growled, turning away from Magnus and toward her door just as she opened it.
They both froze. Beth noted that Scotty was scowling at her as if expecting her to try to send him away, but she was too busy taking in the ruin of his face and head to do so.
His hair, that long, beautiful hair she'd tangled her hands in and pulled as he loved her, was gone. In its place was a charred mess. It was how she imagined a scorched earth would look from space. But that wasn't even the worst of it. His face too was charred, but the healing had started there so that strips of flaking black skin were interspersed with ribbons of raised, red, ridged scars.
"It'll heal," he growled and Beth shifted her eyes to his, blinking as she noted the solid silver staring back. The nanos were obviously hard at work there, repairing whatever damage the fire had done. At least, she assumed it was fire, although she had no idea how he'd been burned. She'd got out of the fire on her own. Beth remembered that much. Reaching out, she gently touched a section of his face that was already scarred and shouldn't hurt and asked in a soft voice, "How?"
Scotty raised a hand to cover hers and she just managed not to flinch at the mess it was. Dear God, the pain he must be in, she thought weakly.
"He tackled you when you came running out of the barn on fire," Magnus explained when Scotty remained silent. "He rolled on the ground with you, trying to put out the flames."
That made Beth frown, and she glanced to the man and asked, "But why isn't he healing?"
"He is. But apparently where the tranquilizers simply help get others through the pain of healing and the nanos ignore it until they have finished their work, with Scotty the nanos turn all their efforts to removing the drug from his system first and then return to the healing. So the tranquilizer just slows his healing."
"I think he must be allergic to the tranquilizer," Rachel announced, approaching from the stairs. "And highly allergic at that. The nanos in him react as if they're removing a life-threatening poison and turn all their attention to getting it out of him. Thus slowing his healing."
Beth nodded solemnly, and then turned her hand in his to clasp it gently.
"He can stay with me if it makes him feel better," she announced and tugged him into her room.
Beth wasn't surprised when Magnus and Rachel followed, but she simply led Scotty to the bed, urged him into it and tucked him in. She noticed the wide-eyed way he was looking at her as she did it, but ignored that and simply walked around the bed to climb in next to him. She didn't lie down, however, but sat up against the headboard and pulled the blankets up to cover the pale blue hospital gown she wore. Beth then peered from Rachel to Magnus expectantly. "So, you think it was another attack directed at me?"
The pair exchanged a glance, and then Magnus asked, "Do you disagree?"
Beth considered it briefly. "It was definitely a trap, and a well-thought-out one. If I hadn't noticed the new nails sticking out of the wood of the barn as we approached, I might have walked straight in to take a look around when I saw that it appeared empty. We probably all would have."
Magnus nodded solemnly.
"But I don't see how it could have been directed at me specifically," she continued. "I'm not the only Rogue Hunter working for Mortimer. In fact, he has more people to call on right now than he did before you and the others came from England. Any one of us could have walked into that trap."
There was silence for a minute, and then Kira said from the door, "Except it appeared to be a joke job. That is what you call it, da? The joke job?"
"Da," Beth admitted reluctantly, watching the other woman enter. It was the first time the Russian had visited since she'd woken up, although she'd been told Kira had refused to leave her bedside the first night, insisting on staying to watch over her.
"So," Kira continued, "if this person knows you are stuck with me, going only to the joke job, then they know is likely you will be assigned barn."
"She's right," Scotty said grimly. "Yer team is the only one that would've been sent to that barn."
"But who could have known that?" Beth asked with a frown.
"Pretty much every Enforcer working for me right now knows that," Mortimer said, entering the room as well. Pausing, he glanced around at the people in the room, and raised his eyebrows. "You could have let me know there was going to be a meeting about this."
"It was not planned," Magnus assured him.
Mortimer grunted at that, and then rubbed the back of his neck before saying, "So, here is our problem. That accident on the highway appears to have been deliberate. The driver had been controlled. However, we do
not think it can be connected to the attack in Vancouver, because whoever set up the car accident could not have followed you to Vancouver, and none of the Enforcers--who were the only people who could know you were out there--were in Vancouver, except for you three. However, now there has been another attack here, a very well-planned attack. But the only people who could know you would be the one sent to the barn are our people." He raised his eyebrows at her. "Do you have any idea what the hell is going on?"
Beth shook her head solemnly. "Sorry. No."
Mortimer grimaced, but nodded. "I did not think so, but was hoping."
"Each attack was pre-planned," Scotty said now, the words coming through clenched teeth.
Beth was aware that she wasn't the only one to look at him. Everyone was watching him now, waiting for him to continue, and probably noticing--like her--that he was obviously suffering. The man was extremely pale. He was also sweating as he struggled with the pain of healing. And there wasn't a damned thing they could do to help him if he was allergic to the tranquilizers.
"At least somewhat," he added with a frown. "The first one could have been a case of opportunity. The immortal behind this could ha'e been followin' Beth, spotted the truck pullin' girders as it drove onto the highway and then simply took control o' the driver and caused the accident. But the second one . . ." He glanced to Beth. "The mortal was taken control of and sent into the ladies' room to lure ye out to the alley where the immortal was waitin' with a sword. That took a little more plannin'."
"And the last one was all plan," Beth continued for him. "The barn was set with traps, the call was made to bring someone out, presumably me, and then . . ." She shrugged and raised her eyebrows. "What does that mean?"
Scotty closed his eyes. His hands and jaw were clenched, and Beth was sure she could see a difference in him. To her it looked like there was less black on his head and face, and more red, wet, raw skin.