The hounds saw before them a wounded beast, and the heat of the chase filled them. They snarled and snapped at each other, working up courage for the kill. Erienne slipped, sliding deeper in the water, and the icy coldness of it made her gasp. The wet chill crept upward through her bodice, while its frigid touch numbed her lower body. She lashed out with the quirt again, but her strength was rapidly fleeing, and though she caught the hip of a hound who had ventured too close, she knew it would only be a matter of time before they would win.
Suddenly a sharp shout rent the air, followed by the crack of a whip. The rattling crash of hooves came along the streambed, and a long-legged black horse raced into view, sending geysers of water spraying up around him. His rider lashed out with a long whip as they plunged into the pack, drawing blood from one hound after another until they tucked their tails and fled, yelping.
Erienne clutched the tangle of roots with both hands, and her head sagged wearily against her outstretched arms. She saw the man as if through a long tunnel. He came to ground with a single bound, his cloak flying wide behind him until he resembled a great bird swooping down toward her. Erienne smiled with detached amusement and closed her eyes, hearing him splash across the stream toward her. His arm slipped beneath her shoulders, and a hoarse voice murmured words that failed to penetrate her confusion as he pried her fingers loose from the roots. Strong, steel-sinewed arms lifted her and held her close against a broad chest. Her head lolled limply on his shoulder, and even the fear that she might be in the clutches of some dreaded winged beast could not rouse her from her darkening world.
Chapter Six
A yellowish-red glow became her sun, a light shining through the darkness, warming her pleasantly and giving her comfort. It was the focal point of her reality, a nurturing sphere of fire and flame, a sun that refused to die. Its energy burst in tiny, flaring sparks that arched and fell, hissing into oblivion, only to be followed again and again by the same crackling display of colored fire. Green, blue, red, yellow fanned upward in an undulating array of hues, expanding from a base of white-hot heat. Yet beyond the glow there was blackness, deep and impenetrable, and she was held within it, like a solitary planet bound in orbit by a force too powerful to resist, feeling the warmth of the sun but unable to draw closer.
Erienne fought her way upward through shreds of sticky, clinging slumber and became distantly aware that her sun was nothing more than a fire blazing in a huge stone hearth. Her eyelids were heavy, her vision blurred. There was a dull, throbbing ache in the back of her head and a great weariness in her limbs. Her bruised body, stripped of its wet garments, was wrapped in soft, furry comfort. Velvet draperies hung from the canopy of the bed and were pulled shut on three sides to shield her from the cold drafts of the room, while the side facing the hearth remained opened to catch the warmth. With the fire, the enveloping velvet tent, and the soft fur coverings she was well protected from that dreadful icy chill that haunted her from an earlier time.
She rolled her head against a pillowy softness, and her nostrils caught an evasive half-sweet, leathery man-smell from the fur throws that enveloped her. The scent stirred a memory of strong arms holding her close and of her cheek resting against a stalwart shoulder. And was there…was there a moment when warm lips touched her own?
Without fear or panic the realization drifted down upon her that as long as she had been awake, she had unconsciously heard the deep, even breathing of someone else in the room. She listened until she determined the sound came from the shadows near the hearth. A tall armchair stood facing the bed, partially silhouetted against the warm glow of the firelight, and within it a man sat oddly hunched, his face and torso lost in darkness. The flickering light danced across his legs, and the shadow of one appeared twisted and misshapen.
She must have gasped, for the heavy breathing stopped and a towering black form rose from the chair. He came toward the bed, and against the firelight, his huge cloaked form seemed to shift and grow and broaden in a cold, disjointed way. Hidden in the shadows, the face was devoid of features. Fingers that seemed more like the taloned claws of an eagle reached out, and weakly Erienne tried to move away. The effort proved too much, and she did not struggle as reality, such as it was, slipped from her tenuous grasp.
Erienne’s mind wandered restlessly through a mirage of flame and shadow, fleeing from one and finding no comfort in the other. The fire was intense, holding her mind and body in a sweltering heat that made her toss and turn. Broken words spilled from her lips as she fought the torment. Then darkness blew its chilly breath upon her, sending a shiver through her. Out of the night emerged a winged creature that perched at the end of the bed. Tilting its grotesque head from side to side, it carefully watched her with eyes that glowed red in the meager light. She whimpered as it drew nearer, and her muffled cries echoed her fear.
Feverish and witless, she slipped through the grayish fog of days and the deeper shroud of nights, pliant beneath the hands that swabbed wet cloths along her burning skin as she raged in delirium, or when she grew chilled and shivery, tugged the fur robe close about her. A sturdy arm braced her shoulders as a cup was forced between her parched lips, and a rasping whisper touched her ear, commanding her to drink. Then the dark creature retreated from the bed to sit crouched in the shadows beside the glowing ball of flame. The eyes seemed to feed on her movements, awaiting that moment when she would cease her ravings and face him, and she dared not consider what price the strange beast would ask for its care.
Erienne’s eyelids fluttered slowly open as the warm morning light intruded upon her sleep and roused her to awareness. The bed hangings had been tied back to the heavy posts, allowing the sun to penetrate into her world. Reality had come to stay, yet her mind was in a tangle of confusion, and she could make no sense of where she was. It seemed ages ago since she had left her father’s cottage, but from the moment of her rescue to the present, her memory could recall little beyond bits and parts of nightmarish dreams.
The dark green velvet of the canopy above her head drew her attention, and she stared at the subtle-hued crest embroidered in the fabric there, wondering how she had come to be in these chambers and in such a grand bed. A pair of stags, worked with crimson, brown, and gold threads, rose on hind legs to form an arch above the crest that bore a broken antler clasped in a mailed fist. The thought dawned that this was no commoner’s bed, but a massive piece fit for a noble lord and his lady.
The chambers were huge and old and smelled of musty disuse. Some effort had been made to sweep and clean away the dust that had accumulated with time, but the attempt had been taken only to the degree that the room was now bearable. Cobwebs still clung to the dark, heavy beams that supported the ceiling. A few faded tapestries hung from the walls, ancient relics of a bygone era. They, too, bore a coating of dirt and cobwebs that had remained undisturbed for some time. Sunlight filtered through the dingy glass of tall, narrow, castlelike windows and fell in a similar pattern on the stone floor, which had been swept but remained in dire need of a scrubbing.
The hearth was stained and blackened from much use, and in its depths a cheerful fire crackled and danced. Beside it, a large, ornately carved chair sat askew across from a slightly smaller replica. To the right of the bed, more velvet hangings partially hid a small bathing closet and privy, a luxury well beyond that of a simple cottage.
Erienne rose slowly to an elbow and waited for the room to settle down before carefully tucking the pillows behind her back. Her eyes strayed about the room and returned to trace along the fur robe that was wrapped snugly about her. She ran a hand admiringly over its silky softness, then lifted it, feeling its touch against her bare skin. The sight of her own nakedness stirred a mixture of visions both fleeting and confused. Images of a large, black shape framed by a red sun drifted through her mind, blending with rasping, indistinct whispers. Unable to take a firm grasp on the haunting impressions and sort them out in the full light of reality, she experienced a growing unease that what h
ad happened here was better left forgotten.
A rattle of dishes came from just outside the door, and Erienne clutched the robe beneath her chin as a rather pert, gray-haired woman entered the chamber carrying a covered tray. The woman halted in surprise when her eyes fell on the bed and found its occupant sitting up against the pillows.
“Oh, ye’re awake.” The sparkle in her voice was as lively as those in her eyes and smile. “The master said he thought the fever had left ye and that ye might be feelin’ better this morn’n’. I’m glad ter see ye are, mum.”
“The master?” Erienne did not miss the significance of the word.
“Aye, mum. Lord Saxton, he be.” The woman brought the tray to the bed and uncovered it to reveal a pot of tea and a cup of broth. “Now that ye’re yerself again, ye’ll probably be wantin’ heartier fare than this.” She chuckled. “I’ll see if the cook can stir up somethin’ ’sides dust in the kitchen.”
Erienne’s curiosity plagued her more than hunger. “Where am I?”
“Why, Saxton Hall, mum.” The elder tilted her head and looked at the younger woman wonderingly, finding the question rather strange, since Lord Saxton had volunteered only a minimum of information. “Don’t ye be knowin’ where ye are?”
“I hit my head, and I didn’t know where I had been taken.”
“Taken? Ye mean the master brought ye here, mum?”
Erienne managed a puzzled nod. “At least I think he did. I fell from my horse, and that’s as much as I can remember. Weren’t you here?”
“Oh, no, mum. After the east wing burned a few years ago, we all—the servants, I mean—went ter work for the Marquess Leicester, him being a friend o’ the old lord and all. ’Twas only this week that the master arranged for our return. We had ter travel all the way from London, and so we just arrived this morn’n’. ’Twas only himself here with ye when we came.”
Erienne could feel the heat creeping up her neck and into her cheeks. Whoever this Lord Saxton was, he had not left even a shred of clothing that she could assuage her modesty with. “This is the master’s chambers?” she questioned carefully. “Lord Saxton’s bed?”
“Aye, mum.” The woman poured a cup of tea and set it on the tray. “He’s been livin’ here no more’n a week or two himself.”
“Was he out hunting yesterday?” Erienne queried.
The elder frowned slightly. “Nay, mum. He said he was here with ye.”
Erienne’s mind tumbled in an eddy of confusion. It seemed that only a night had passed since she had fallen from Socrates, but having no awareness of what really happened, she could not be sure. Trembling fingers took up the cup of tea, and she almost held her breath as she asked, “Did he say how long I had been here?”
“This be the fourth day, mum.”
Four days! Four days she had been here alone with Lord Saxton, with no one to care for her but him. She wanted to writhe beneath the agony of embarrassment.
“The master said ye were real sick, mum.”
“I must have been,” Erienne whispered miserably. “I can’t remember anything.”
“Ye’ve had a fever, and with hittin’ yer head, I can understand ’at ye might be somewhat confused.” She laid a spoon beside the bowl of broth. “Why did ye ask if the master was out huntin’? Did ye meet him then?”
“I was attacked by a pack of hounds. I thought perhaps they were his.” The memory of those sharp-fanged beasts sent a shiver through her.
“Oh, ’em beasts most likely belonged ter someone else scrubbin’ ’round his lordship’s lands. There’s usually a lot o’ poachers here’bouts. We was havin’ trouble with ’em even before the manor burned, especially with that rascal, Timmy Sears. Seems I recall he had a pack o’ hounds even then, and they were just as likely ter sink their fangs into a man as any o’ the game they were chasin’.”
“I fear they mistook me for something wild,” Erienne murmured. She sipped from the porcelain cup and managed a smile. “Thank you for the tea…Madam…ah…”
“Mrs. Kendall it be, mum. Aggie Kendall. I be the housekeeper. Most o’ me kin is hired on as help here, and I’ll be tellin’ ye the truth when I say there’s a fine lot o’ us. Me sisters and her daughters along with me own girls, and me husband and his brother. The other ones here are the stablemaster and his sons. They be the outside help. They come from the master’s lands.”
Erienne tried to summon some vision of the master from her confused dreams but failed to put a face to the black shape in her mind. “Where is Lord Saxton now?”
“Oh, he’s gone for a while, mum. He left right after we got here. He said for us ter look after ye until ye were feelin’ better, then ter have the carriage take ye back ter yer father.”
Erienne set the cup down as a sudden feeling of dread washed over her. “I’d rather not go back to Mawbry. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I…I would prefer being taken elsewhere. It doesn’t matter where.”
“Oh, no, mum. The master was most firm ’bout gettin’ ye back ter yer father. When ye’re ready, ye’re ter be put in the coach and delivered directly ter him.”
Erienne stared at the woman, wondering if she or this Lord Saxton knew what they were sending her back to. “Are you sure your master wanted me returned to my father? Could there not be some mistake?”
“I’m sorry, mum. His lordship was quite clear ’bout instructin’ us. Ye’re ter be returned ter yer father.”
Biting despair seized Erienne, and she slumped against the pillows. It was a dismal thought indeed that after having successfully escaped her sire, she would be taken back at the mere whim of a man whom she had never met. Surely it was cruel fate that had brought her here. Indeed, if Socrates had not charged full bore into the midst of the hounds and stirred up their baying voices, Lord Saxton might not have been drawn to her at all. It was not likely that she would have survived, but then, at the present moment she thought death would be preferable over marriage to either Harford Newton or Smedley Goodfield.
Aggie Kendall found no words to reconcile the lass to her master’s orders and quietly took herself from the room. Erienne was deeply concerned about her state of circumstances and hardly noticed the woman’s departure. Exhausted from her ordeal and suffering from an overwhelming depression, Erienne spent the rest of the morning weeping and sleeping.
A tray was brought to her at noon, and though her appetite was seriously lacking, she forced herself to eat. The food helped to revive some of her lagging spirit, and she approached Aggie on the possibility of having the water pitcher filled so she might bathe herself.
“I’ll be happy ter fetch it meself, mum,” the housekeeper replied cheerily. Anxious to please, she opened the armoire doors and laid out a threadbare dressing gown that Erienne recognized. Glancing past the housekeeper, she was surprised to see that her own clothes had been placed inside. Aggie followed her gaze and answered her unspoken question. “The master must o’ put ’em away, mum.”
“He gave up these chambers for me?” Erienne posed the inquiry, curious as to whether he would press to share the rooms with her before he sent her back to her father. She had not forgotten her meeting with Smedley Goodfield, and she knew that if Lord Saxton was of that ilk, she would not be safe for very long in his chambers.
“ ’Tis not really a matter o’ givin’ ’em up, mum. Since the master just come here, he hasn’t settled himself in any room yet, though these are the lord’s chambers. As ye may have noticed”—Aggie swept a hand to indicate the room—“it has been a while since anyone occupied it.” She glanced about thoughtfully and released a pensive sigh. “I was here when the master was born, when the old lord and his lady occupied these rooms. Since then there’s been a lot what’s happened, and ’tis sad ter see how time an’ neglect have misused the manor.” She stared wistfully toward the windows for a moment, and then seeming to take a firm grip on her straying thoughts, she smiled brightly and gazed at Erienne again, blinking away the tears that had come into her eyes. “W
e’re here ter stay this time, mum. The master has said so. We’ll see the manor cleaned an’ scrubbed an’ shinin’ bright as never before. They won’t drive us out again.”
As if embarrassed by her own verbosity, Aggie turned and hurried out of the chamber, leaving Erienne much bemused. About the time her family moved to Mawbry, many stories were floating around about the manor and the Saxton family. Very much a stranger to the North country then, she had let the comments drift by without a great deal of notice, and she was somewhat at a loss now to remember all the details beyond the fact that they had blamed the burning on the raiding bands of Scots.
Water was brought for a bath, and fresh linens and soap were provided. Aggie bustled about to set everything within reach of the bed, though Erienne assured her that she was feeling much stronger. But the woman was most eager to do the master’s bidding and quickly declared that his orders were for the servants to take special care of his guest.
Timid about coming out of her fur cocoon and revealing her naked state, Erienne waited until the housekeeper had left before attempting to bathe herself. Maneuvering to the edge of the bed, she gingerly raised herself to her feet. Her legs trembled weakly beneath her, and her head throbbed, and it was a long time before the room stopped swaying. She realized she had misjudged her strength, but she was determined to dress herself, and if Lord Saxton had returned, seek him out and state her case to him.