One week later . . .
The town was alive with talk of the Christmas season. Wreaths made of red ribbon and pine needles decorated every door in Colchester, and, over the last week, women bustled in and out of Fiona’s Fabrics to buy cloth of gold, red, green, and white to fashion their Christmas ball gowns. Mistletoe dangled from the eaves in Murdock’s, so the men would receive more kisses than usual from the tavern wenches—at no cost from their pockets.
“My seasonal gift to all of ye,” Mr. Murdock shouted over the noisy patrons. His kind gesture was rewarded with cries of: “Hear, hear!” And toasts: “To Murdock’s, the best tavern in all of England!” Mr. Murdock, being the modest man he was, waved off the attention and returned to keeping the regulars in line.
Alaric and Ulric smiled amid the warm and cheerful atmosphere, raising their tankards during the toast and throwing back several gulps in honor of Mr. Murdock. Alaric was constantly bombarded by the barmaids. Ulric sat back and watched his brother savor the interest. He supposed Alaric was handsome; his dark hair was to his shoulders, his eyes were the color of golden wheat harvests in the summertime, with flecks of green dotted around the middle, and his smile shone brighter than the sun on a midsummer day. Aye, women had every right to be attracted to him. However, if Ulric had anything nice to say in his own defense, he would argue that he had the brains of the two, beating out his brother. Alaric was becoming lazier and more brazen with his imprudent antics of drinking, and Ulric knew that would one day be his downfall.
“Ye are not enjoying thyself, brother!” said Alaric.
Ulric grinned. “And it seems ye have too much merriment.”
Alaric chuckled. “Here, then. Take one of these wenches.” Alaric pushed one of the women toward Ulric, causing him to nearly choke on his ale when she sat in his lap. Alaric threw his head back and laughed even more so.
Ruckus at the entrance of Murdock’s caused every head to turn in that direction. The Captain of the Watch was yelling, “I call upon thy attention!” The tavern went silent, save for a few patrons who could not control themselves. “Our gracious new neighbors have invited everyone to join them for the Christmas ball. As ye all know, they have reconstructed the old Peabody mansion and would greatly appreciate if the townsfolk would join them in celebration. Tonight, the festivities officially begin.”
More cheers erupted throughout the inn.
“Count me in!” yelled one man.
Another inserted his thoughts: “If there is more ale to be enjoyed, then I shall make an appearance!” This, of course, was met with raucous laughter.
“What say ye, brother?” Alaric asked, turning toward Ulric. “Are ye joining the joyous celebration of Christmastime tonight?”
“Aye,” said Ulric. “I believe I am.”
Later that evening, Alaric and Ulric made preparations to attend the ball, along with much of the townsfolk who could afford to dress fancy and stay out until the wee hours of the morning. Alaric and Ulric wore their best attire: linen shirts, doublets, and riding boots. Both said their farewells to Frederic, who did not question where his boys were headed, although Alaric and Ulric guessed he already knew the answer.
Ulric remembered a time not so long ago when his father and mother attended the Christmas festivities at Murdock’s Inn. Their mother was always a quiet, kindhearted soul, who never missed a celebration with her family and friends. Now those days were gone forevermore.
As Alaric and Ulric arrived at the Peabody estate, they recognized several of Colchester’s townsfolk, many of whom were regulars at these events.
“I must say, brother,” said Ulric, “they have surpassed my expectations of the household. I fear I may have underestimated their restoration capabilities.”
Gone was dilapidated mansion from years prior. Presently, the Peabody home looked as if it did when they were children—expansive land with the forest as a backdrop, broad lighting in every room, chandeliers which caught candlelight in their crystals and spread glittering rainbows across each wall.
“’Tis magic,” Alaric whispered.
Ahead, greeting their new guests, were the Lowell’s. Mr. Lowell stood at the foot of a grand staircase, and his daughter and wife stood on either side. One glimpse at his daughter caused Ulric’s heart to seize. Never had he felt like this before. She was a golden princess, a goddess among peasants, a fairy queen. Her gold and white dress shimmered in the bright illumination of candles and lanterns. Her hair was laced with satiny ribbons, and white flowers graced her head like a crown. Her face, however, was harsh despite her beauty.
“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Alaric Conway, and this is my brother, Ulric.” Alaric made a gesture toward Ulric. Both of them bowed, as if they were before royalty. They might as well be.
“A pleasure to meet thee both,” said Mr. Lowell. “Please, call me Theodore. This is my wife, Angelica,” he continued, placing an adoring arm around her. “And this is my daughter, Daciana.” Daciana seemed indifferent to both Alaric and Ulric, as if she was too good for their company. “I hope thou enjoy the revelry tonight, as we are most humbled by thy presence.” Theodore raised a hand toward a room to his right, which Alaric and Ulric could see was decorated with red and gold bows, and evergreen swags.
Making their way toward the large ballroom, Alaric and Ulric schmoozed with the locals and danced with several women. A small orchestra played familiar and unfamiliar tunes, but neither Alaric nor Ulric cared in the slightest; they were only here to escape their mundane daily lives and drink the night away.
During one of the final dances of the evening, Ulric asked Mitsy for her hand, but she was already accounted for by another. Deciding to take a short break and bask in the cold night air, Ulric stepped outside, into the gardens. Hedges were as tall as his him, and a fountain sat at the middle of an outdoor court, where the water had frozen into ice. Too preoccupied with admiring the statue, Ulric failed to notice someone appear on the other side of the sculpture.
“Pray tell me, sir,” said a seductive voice, “what does Colchester have to offer that London does not?”
Ulric, startled, peeked around the edge of the marble statue, catching sight of Daciana. “I am afraid, milady, that I have never been to London, so I cannot rightfully compare the two.”
Daciana frowned. “Such a shame.” She proceeded to take slow, steady strides away from Ulric and the conversation.
Ulric began ardent steps and caught up to her. “I would say, to the best of my knowledge, that London is a larger town, and therefore the amenities offered are more universal there rather than here.” Seeing that she was not convinced, Ulric continued. “Mayhap ye will enjoy the country life more so than the city. We have wonderful people, beautiful land, and, in the summertime, I believe the sun shines brighter here than anywhere else in the world; it favors us.”
Daciana stopped walking and faced Ulric. “Personally, I do not believe Colchester to be so special from any other town on this earth. ’Tis a dried up city, with peasants who can hardly pay taxes and feed their families.”
“I have offended ye,” Ulric said. “That was not my intention. Forgive me.”
Daciana studied him closely. “It takes great effort for a man to admit when he is wrong. I am afraid, however, that I shall not be around much longer to see this wonderful fantasy thou have dreamt.”
“’Tis not a dream, milady. ’Tis as real as us, flesh and blood.” Flustered by her previous comment, Ulric pressed on. “Ye shall not be around until summertime? Why, might I ask?”
Daciana’s chin rose. Ulric could not help but notice the slight flush the bitter air forced onto her cheeks. “’Tis a secret, one which I have kept near and dear to my heart.” She glanced his way. “I am afraid I cannot tell thee, as I do not know whether my secret can be kept well hidden behind thy lips.”
Ulric concealed his grin. “I am trustworthy, milady.”
She gave him a sidelong look. “Thou art? Most men cannot be trusted.”
“Aye, but perhaps I am not most men.” He watched her take this in, watched her rose-tinted lips thin and purse themselves together. He admired her dark hair, as dark as the bark of the trees in the forest ahead. And her eyes? He could not be sure, but they seemed radiate a burnt gold.
A though struck him. No, it could not be! She was too beautiful, too graceful, to even be considered a monster. But he could not mistake the idea—those deep yellow eyes he had seen before, just a week ago. They haunted him through nightmares and unpleasant daydreams. He feared for his safety, and the safety of those he loved most. ’Twould make sense, though, that he had not seen the wolf before . . . until Daciana moved to Colchester.
“Thou art not well.” Daciana stated, sucking Ulric out of his dreadful accusations.
“I fear the wintry air has invaded my senses and left me troubled. Forgive me, milady, but I must retire for the night.” He bowed once, avoiding eye contact, and left in a daze.
Before he could reach the entryway, Daciana called behind him, “I hope to see thee again, and soon!”
Ulric searched for Alaric. He was in a corner surrounded by fellow gents and a few ladies, and, surprisingly, did not seem all that intoxicated. Alaric met Ulric’s eye and wiggled his way free from the small crowd gathered around him.
“What is it, brother? Ye look as if ye have seen a ghost.” Alaric chuckled at his own joke, but Ulric did not join in with his own mirth. Alaric stopped laughing and became serious. “What is it, then?”
“Come with me. I have much to tell.” Ulric ushered Alaric outside, where they shivered under winter’s mantle. “Ye may believe I have gone mad, but I need ye to believe in me, brother. That is all I ask.”
Concerned for Ulric’s mental stability, Alaric politely nodded, yet wondered what could muddle him so. The list of possibilities was endless, and Alaric suppressed the urge to presume. He would be better off listening to what Ulric had to say.
When they arrived at their cottage, Frederic was fast asleep in his room. Alaric stoked the embers in the dying fire and added new logs. Ulric anxiously paced the room, working out a plan to explain to his brother he felt possessed by the eyes of a giant wolf, they consumed his every waking hour, and that he might never forget the horror he witnessed a week ago. Yet no townsfolk had reported, or spoke of, a large wolf attacking any persons or livestock. It seemed the wolf was only after one thing: Ulric.
“Out with it, then,” said Alaric, as he turned the cinders into a crackling blaze of warmth.
Ulric began his version of witnessing the wolf only a week prior at the edge of the forest, how it came directly at him and he feared for his life, and the lives of Alaric and their father. He mentioned that he had not seen the wolf since, and had not heard of any persons reporting an attack. Then, with some hesitation, he told Alaric of Daciana, of her eyes that burned as brightly as the flames in the hearth now, and how they closely resembled the wolf. ’Twas too eerie to dismiss.
Ulric stopped pacing long enough to hear his brother’s words. “What say ye?”
Alaric stared at the floor, lost in his own thoughts, and stroked his chin. “I would say ’tis just a coincidence, brother. Surely ye do not believe Daciana is capable of turning into a wolf. This is clearly a thing of myth and legend, passed on from generation to generation to scare young children from creeping into the woods at nightfall. ’Tis a clear tactic to keep them tucked safely in their beds. That is all and naught more.”
“Ye think I am fictionalizing my tale?” asked Ulric, who grew angrier by the minute. Come what may, he knew Alaric would not believe his account.
“Nay,” Alaric said. “I am merely suggesting that ye were the only person the wolf saw that night, so, naturally, it came after ye. Mayhap the creature is rabid. If true, we should gather a search party and clear the woods.”
Ulric bit out, “’Tis the last time I speak of this wolf. Now, if ye will excuse me, my mind and body are exhausted.” Without another word, or a goodnight to his brother, Ulric retired to his bedroom.
Each time he drifted to sleep, Ulric was haunted by Daciana’s eyes shining brightly in the moonlight, and just when he pushed aside images of her, the eyes reappeared on the wolf. Almost as if they merged perfectly into one.
Chapter Six