in damp travelling leathers, leaning against the wall, arms folded, as still as the darkness itself, watching her.
Ishbel knew instantly who it was.
Maximilian had travelled hard and fast once he’d left his first night’s campsite to reach Pelemere at the same time as Ishbel. He was numb at the realisation that Elcho Falling was probably waking, but as he had no idea what direction he should take, or what he should do, Maximilian simply continued on as he had originally planned.
Meet Ishbel, discover for himself what she was like.
The only thing that Maximilian knew was that, whatever else, Ishbel was somehow integral to Elcho Falling.
No one had spotted him as he slipped in at the back of Ishbel’s train. Maximilian was dressed in clothes similar to those of Ishbel’s escort, plus everyone’s attention was on Pelemere and the necessity to get there as soon as possible, rather than on the actual number of men trailing along behind.
He dismounted in a quiet corner of the yard, looking about for Ishbel.
Maximilian had spotted her almost immediately, and his first thought was that she was the woman he’d seen in his vision.
The second was that he’d never seen anyone more alone than she was at that moment.
She had no retinue. No one. Not a maid, not a valet, not a single companion that she could trust and lean on for support.
Absolutely isolated, and looking lost and afraid because of it.
Maximilian had seen the look on her face, and had recognised it instantly. He’d seen it on face after face of men condemned to the Veins — a hopeless, trapped expression that was impossible to fake.
She must truly be driven, then, to come all this way for a marriage she could not want.
Ishbel eventually vanished behind the milling horses and their dismounted riders, and Maximilian had taken the opportunity to slip into the house, and merge with his old friend, the darkness.
He’d stood there, completely motionless, allowing the dark to curl about and hide him while Ishbel unpacked a single valise, ate a meal brought to her by a servant, and bathed in the hip bath set by the fire. He’d waited and watched, motionless, secreted, as Ishbel had dried herself, pulled on her nightgown and then the robe, summoned the servant to take away the bath, and then sat in the chair by the shuttered window, resting soft and silent and very, very still until the moment she tipped her head back against the chair and sighed with such misery that Maximilian felt his heart turn over.
It was the ultimate betrayal, this silent watching of a woman’s most intimate moments, but Maximilian had needed to do it. He hadn’t hoped to discover any of the secrets StarWeb had said Ishbel trailed behind her, nor had he hoped to discover the true reasons behind her journey to this point (whatever Ishbel thought they might be). What he’d wanted to do was discover, as best he might, the real Ishbel, the woman behind whatever intrigue she carried with her, and this was, he thought, one of the few times he would be able to observe her completely naked, physically, emotionally and spiritually.
What he had discovered was that, no matter the exterior she showed to the world, Ishbel was very vulnerable, and very sad.
He had discovered that she didn’t have the mark of the Coil anywhere on her body.
And Maximilian had discovered that he wanted this woman for his wife.
It was not so much her physical beauty — Ishbel was a lovely woman with her mass of dark blonde hair, her soft hazel eyes, translucent skin and strong lithe body — but her quietness of movement that attracted Maximilian. StarWeb had said that Ishbel was very unquiet, but her movements about the room had been so soft, so simple, so contained, that Maximilian thought that she would be a very peaceful woman to have at his side.
If he could ever trust her, and if she could ever forgive him this inexcusable intrusion into her privacy.
He moved, breathed just a little more heavily, disturbed the shadows clinging to him, and Ishbel instantly realised his presence.
She leapt to her feet, staring at him, and Maximilian very slowly unfolded his arms, straightened up from the wall, and stepped forward.
“Ishbel —”
“You are Maximilian.”
He came to a halt some three or four paces from her and gave a slow nod, his eyes not leaving hers. She was angry and hurt and frightened, and he was surprised by none of those. He was also intrigued: she had not taken a step back at his approach, and, even with her knowing who he was, he would have expected that.
“How long have you been standing there?”
“Since you entered,” Maximilian said.
She drew in a long breath, her eyes huge, her face paling, then suddenly flaring in colour.
“Yes,” Maximilian said, “you may think all those things of me, and more. My behaviour has been inexcusable, but necessary.”
“Why?” The word was shot at him, almost hissed.
“Because I needed to see you for who you are, without any artifice.”
“And for that you used all the artifice you could muster.”
He tilted his head, conceding the point, his eyes still locked onto hers.
“I am sorry you are so very alone here,” he said, and that sympathy accomplished what his previous words had not.
Her eyes flooded with tears, and her shoulders sagged. She half turned away from him, a hand over her mouth.
“Can we talk?” Maximilian said. He had taken a step closer to her.
“No. Go away.”
“It is better we talk now, than be forced to talk before our assembled retinues at our ‘official’ meeting at my ‘official arrival’ in three days’ time. Far better we talk now, Ishbel.” He took another step closer.
“Go away!”
“Ishbel …” Now Maximilian was very close, and she turned back, ready to throw off his hand.
But he was standing again as he had been when first she’d seen him, arms folded, leaning this time against the high post at the end of the bed.
“Why do you want to marry me?” he said.
“I don’t.” Ishbel was too tired, and still too shocked by Maximilian’s appearance, to dissemble.
“Then why are you here?”
“Because the Coil told me to come. They were the ones who insisted I marry you.”
“Why?”
