Page 8 of Winterset

He had argued valiantly that he intended to leave as soon as possible, but Kyria had countered that after two years of traveling, she was an expert at packing quickly, and the twins, of course, were ready to go at a moment’s notice, needing only to extract a promise from Thisbe and Desmond that they would make sure that the parrot and boa and the rest of the twins’ menagerie were well taken care of. As for Rosemary, Kyria could vouch for her speed and efficiency, as well as her willingness to take off on a lark.

Finally Reed had given in, knowing that to continue to argue further against their joining him would only result in exactly the sort of curious questions that he was trying to avoid. He would have far preferred to have gone alone, but he had to admit that taking several members of his family with him would make the trip appear more normal and conveniently mask his real purpose.

Kyria had kept her promise of packing and moving with speed, and within a day they had set out, travelling not by train, as Reed had originally intended, but in Kyria’s new victoria, an elegant low-slung open carriage that Rafe had recently bought for his wife, with Reed and Rafe riding alongside, followed by a slower wagon of personal servants and luggage, as well as a groom with several more horses for the twins, Kyria and their guest.

When they arrived at Winterset, Reed had immediately talked to the butler, then to the local solicitor, Mr. Norton, and even to the caretaker of the place, subtly inquiring about what had been happening in the area. Frustratingly, he had come up with no indication that there was anything amiss locally. He had tried to keep any inquiries about Miss Holcomb casual, but he thought there had been a definite spark of interest in Norton’s eye when he answered that Miss Holcomb and her brother were in the best of health.

It occurred to Reed that he had been both precipitate and foolish in placing so much importance on a dream. No matter how vivid it had been, no matter how it had shaken him, it was, after all, only a dream. A rational man, he reminded himself, would not forget that.

Still, he could not dislodge the feeling deep inside that it had indeed been important, and he knew that he had to find out more. He needed, he knew, to talk to Anna, to see her and judge for himself whether or not anything was bothering her. For that reason, he had ridden out this afternoon, heading along the path to her house. It was one he had taken many times in the month he had spent courting her, and just riding along, looking at the beautiful landscape around him, had filled him with a poignant sense of loss and regret.

He wasn’t sure what he intended to do. He had learned from the butler that Sir Edmund, Anna’s father, had died two years ago, and her brother, Christopher, was now in charge at Holcomb Manor. He did not know Sir Christopher, and according to the polite code of society, it would be correct to wait until Christopher came to call on him, as Reed was the visitor to the area. On the other hand, Reed had called at Holcomb Manor many times before when he had lived at Winterset, so it would not be breaking any rule of conduct, really, to call upon Anna.

It would, of course, be awkward in the extreme.

However, he could think of no other way to talk directly to her. He certainly had no intention of sitting around, kicking his heels, waiting for Sir Christopher to call on him so that he could return the call, or for Anna to call upon his sister, which seemed unlikely, given the circumstances.

It had seemed heaven sent, then, when he had spied her walking in the distance, and he had kicked his horse into a trot, eagerness rising up in him.

He had seen the stricken expression on her face when she had looked up at him, and it was only then that he had realized his eagerness was out of proportion to what he should feel. His second thought had been that her beauty had not diminished in the three years since he had seen her. She had, if anything, grown even more beautiful—or perhaps his memory had simply been unable to recall the full extent of her beauty.

He had dismounted and then stood, feeling like a fool, knowing that she did not want to speak to him, or even see him; that was obvious from the way she stood, poised as if she might run away at any moment. Their conversation had been awkward and stilted, and he had found out nothing from her that he did not already know.

It had been impossible to ask her outright if she was in any sort of trouble. She would have thought him mad—and if he had told her about the dream that had sent him to Winterset posthaste, she would have thought him even more insane. He had no right to protect her; he had not even seen her in three years, and when last he had seen her, she had rejected him.

Worst of all, as he had stood there struggling through their awkward conversation, he had been aware of the fact that what he truly wanted to do was to pull her into his arms and kiss her. After all this time, despite her flat and unequivocal rejection of his proposal, he still wanted her.

What a fool he had been to come back here! Reed could not help but wonder if what had sent him running to Winterset had been less certainty in the portent of his dream than the long-dormant, but obviously not-quenched, fire he had felt for Anna.

There was no hope for him with her; there never had been. Coming back here had just stirred passions that were better left alone. He had spent three long years getting over the pain of loving her. The last thing he should do was place himself in danger of falling in love all over again.

He should leave, he knew. Forget his bizarre dream and just go back to London, where he had a perfectly enjoyable and trouble-free life. He should simply do what he had told everyone he was doing here: spend a day or two looking over the house, then order repairs and put it up for sale. Then he should return to London and forget all about Anna Holcomb.

And yet he knew, even as he thought it, that he would not. However foolish it was to stay, he would not—could not—leave.

* * *

The girl walked as quickly as she could through the trees. She did not like to be alone here, where the trees grew thickly all around and the night was silent except for the occasional scrabbling of some nocturnal creature. There was an eerie quality to the woods that frightened her even during the daytime, but at night they seemed twice as ominous—secret and dark and full of things that she could sense but could not see.

Her lover scoffed at her fears. He said the woods were like a cloak, hiding and protecting them. They could meet no other way. It was only in the woods at night that the two of them could be alone together, could express how they really felt.

And it was for that reason that she plunged eagerly in among the trees. She would meet him here tonight as they so often did, and he would kiss away her fears, tease her for her foolishness even as his hands caressed her. She did not mind that he teased her, did not care that he talked of things she could not understand. He loved her, and that was all that mattered. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that one such as he could love her. She hugged that knowledge to herself like a kind of talisman against the darkness.

Something rustled in the bushes behind her, and the noise sent an icy prickle down her spine. She glanced uneasily behind her, but she could see nothing. She picked up her pace a little, her hands fisting nervously in her skirts. It would not be long before she was at their meeting place, and then everything would be all right.

There was a snap behind her, and she jumped and whirled, peering into the darkness behind her. “Hello?” Her voice came out quavering and thin. There was no answer.

It was nothing, she told herself, or perhaps it was her lover, playing a little joke on her. She did not always understand his jests. She waited, but the longer she stood waiting, listening, the more stretched her nerves grew. Again there came a rustling, but this time to the side of her. And as she whipped her head around, she glimpsed something—a flash of movement.

Fear tore through her, and she began to run. She called his name, her voice swallowed up by the enormous silence of the woods. She ran, her pulse pounding in her ears, her breath rasping in her throat.

It was following her. She could hear the snap of twigs, the whisper of branches pushed aside, the soft thud of someone—something!—running. She ran with all the speed of terror, but it gained easily on her. She could hear its breath behind her, and then it slammed into her.

She went sprawling on the ground, the breath knocked out of her. Its weight was heavy on her back. She struggled to breathe, struggled to crawl. It growled, low and menacing. Tears of fear sprang into her eyes. She tried to turn, to face her attacker, but it held her head down.

Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a face—fearsome, snarling, like nothing she had ever seen. Then, before she could even think, something sank into her throat, ripping, tearing. Her screams echoed and died in the stillness of the trees.

CHAPTER THREE