“Her and that evil black cat,” Tessie chimed in.
Elizabeth could feel the color draining from her face. A foreboding tenseness attacked her body.
“I heard her music raises the dead,” said the other woman.
“Oi believe that to be true.
Elizabeth could almost visualize the Nora nodding in agreement.
“Sometimes, she gets a strange look on 'er face kinda sudden when she thinks no one is looking.”
Elizabeth bit her lip till it throbbed and glanced behind her at Mary wondering if she heard the conversation. Mary was busy pulling some linens out of a pantry and was talking softly to William.
“The other day I came upon her whilst she was mending Master William’s shirt, and ‘twas still on 'is body! ‘Tis a death omen, ‘twas.”
“Unlucky for him,” Nora agreed.
Elizabeth stood at the kitchen door and peered inside.
“And she talks to the wind when no one else is about.”
Nona swept the dusty floor inwards, away from the open door, while the other servant, a young woman with a birthmark on her face, stood outside and caught the dirt into a receptacle and threw the particles behind her.
Tessie sat at the table shucking peas.
Elizabeth twirled a lock of her around her finger.
They thought it bad luck to sweep the dirt in the other direction! This was the kind of folly dangerous to her well being. Fools. Elizabeth closed her eyes. Fools. All of them!
“She talks to the dead, Tessie said as she tossed a handful of peas into a bowl.”
Both women gasped.
Elizabeth paled. Her eyes snapped open.
The silence slithered up her spine.
“I've seen the way her eyes glaze over and the evil…,” Tess shook her finger at the two women who stood, eyes agape, staring at her. “‘Evil is all around her. She talks to Mistress Rebecca.”
Elizabeth stomach tightened like she’d been hit.
“’Tis that cat of hers, he tells her things.” Nora leaned the broom against the wall. “He walks with the dead; seen him sleeping in the cemetery. That’s how she came by the mistress’s name. ‘Twasn’t me who told her.”
“Nor I.” Tessie shook her head and Elizabeth wanted to bolt into the room and shake some sense into both of them.
Mary, swept past her and entered the kitchen.”Ye have better things to do than stand around with foolish prattle”, she said, her voice stern.”Nona fetch some dishes. You--” Mary pointed to the other servant. “Go back to Madam Wellsworth and spread no gossip about this household to her.”
Mistress Wellsworth?
Elizabeth slumped against the door frame.
Katherine knew her guardian. 'Twas only a matter of time before he learned of her whereabouts, if not from her, from her servant who would certainly go running back spreading vicious gossip about her to Katherine.
She would rather die than go back to him.
“Elizabeth, sit,” Mary ordered.
Her thoughts spinning, like the ribbons on a May pole, Elizabeth entered the kitchen and slumped into a chair.
Every taut fiber in her body warned her against Nona, whose gaze darted to Tessie, then back to her again as though they shared some secret language with their eyes.
Elizabeth folded her hands in her lap.
“I be a thinkin’ his lordship will be mighty pleased to hear of Master William’s progress.” Mary grabbed a handful of linen cloths from the cupboard. “He will be please to learn his son is such a musical genius. I--”
With a thud Nona plunked a dish to the table.
Mary’s brows drew together with a sharp look of disapproval.
“Mary. I think…” Elizabeth pushed away from the table. The chair scraped against the floor, as grating as the tense silence hovering around her.
“… I’ll go outside for some air. I am really not very hungry.”
“Nonsense. Ye could stand puttin’ a little meat on ye bones. Besides, ‘twill be gettin’ dark soon enough. Tell me of William's progress.”
The need to bolt from the room— to run from a house full of ugly pasts and secrets and from a man whose foolish demons ruined any chance of happiness became overwhelmingly stifling.
“Just a short ride.” Elizabeth turned on her heel and stepped outside, leaving all the narrow-mindedness and hate directed at her behind.
Though it would soon be dark, the need to go for a ride and clear her head pushed aside her reservations.
She approached the stables and glanced around. The last person she wanted to meet up with was Duncan, or God forbid, her guardian, they both made her skin crawl.
Thank the dear Lord, she knew how to saddle a horse without the stable-hands help.
She peeked passed the massive double door, then took an abrupt step into the barn. The strong sharp smell of horse manure and pungent fermenting hay assaulted her nostrils.
A cool breeze riffled through her hair.
A bird fluttered. She glanced up as a small hawk descended from the rafters, then disappeared through the open doors.
The lofts above, blanketed with fresh pitched hay, offered a safe haven-a place to hide from a world of ignorance and hate. For a moment, she thought about running up that ladder and burring herself beneath the flaxen straw, but it wouldn’t do for Duncan to find her there.
A horse neighed then snorted, drawing her attention to the stall closest to the door.
She hurried over to the white stallion and ran her fingers along the animal’s forehead. “Silver tip, remember me? With gentle persuasion she eased him from his stall, threw a blanket and saddle upon his back and tightened the girth.
“Well, don’t this beat all.”
Duncan’s voice made Elizabeth cringe. She whirled around to face him.
“Miss high and mighty paying me a visit.”
Particles of hay clung to his bulging forearms and faded blue britches. He wore no shirt. Sweat trickled down the peach colored fuzz covering his chest.
Uncomfortable, she glanced away.
The horse stirred with nervous apprehension. His keen eyes fiery, he held his head high. His nostrils dilated with distrust.
Once again, she got the feeling he mistreated the animals. She clenched the reins tightly.
“If I had known you was gonna come a calling I would have dressed up a bit more proper like.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.
She met his leering gaze. A terrible pang of anxiety clutched her stomach. “I was just leaving.”
“What’s your hurry?”
The stallion pawed the ground, then shook his head.
Sensing his displeasure, she reached over and patted the animal’s neck.
“You are blocking the doorway. Please be so kind as to allow me to pass.” Her lips curled in disgust.
His gaze remained fixed on her. A sly smile distorted his lips, making him appear meaner, viler than before.
Her composure under attack, her knees shook.
He strolled forward and stopped before her. He smelled of perspiration, sticky and hot.
She stepped back.
The stallion’s hard muscular flank quivered against her back.
“Now I jest want to check and see if you’ve set the saddle properly. Can’t have you falling off and breaking your pretty little neck now, can we?”
“Nay.” Arguing with him would only delay his departure. Though apprehension flowed through her, with a forced casualness, she stepped aside allowing him to pass.
He bent and looked under the horse’s belly; pulled on the girth and tugged on the saddle. “Looks good.” He swung around and thrust out his hand. “Here. Let me help you.”
She didn’t want his help. The thought of his hands anywhere on her person made her nauseous. Every fiber in her body warned against him. She glanced around for a step she could use, but there was nothing, but a rusty bucket.
Hesitantly, she reached out. He took her hand.
Her hear
t racing, she placed her foot in the stirrup.
Chewing her lip, she hoisted herself up and felt Duncan’s fingers sliding up her leg. Every nerve in her body tensed. She grabbed the far side of the saddle to pull away from his touch and leaned against the horse’s back for support.
Then, before she could twist aside, Duncan reached around her waist, yanked her from the stallion and whirled her around.
She sucked in a short, clipped breath of stale heavy air.
“Before you go, I’ve the need for a proper thank you.” His sour, hot breath upon her face made her gag.
She struggled beneath his hold. “Let me go. How dare you.” She reached out to slap him, but he caught her wrist.
He yanked her closer. His body pressed against hers. “Not without a kiss.”
Fear, stiffened her body and threatened to devour her. Her heart raced. The veins in her neck pulsated with intensity. She tried to twist away, but he held her tight. What a fool she was to trust him. What a fool.
“What? I’m not good enough fer the likes of you?”He let go of her wrist; ran his fingers across her neck; ground his body against her.
She flung her hands out against his chest.
His grip tightened around her waist. “I bet you don’t put up such a fight with his lordship.”
Roughly, he shoved her up against the stallion.
The horse shook his mane, but remained steadfast.
Trapped, she couldn’t move.
Her mind darted back to that moment when despite her protests, her guardian had climbed atop her.
A sickening familiar fear spread across her befuddled mind.
Her vision unfocused she stared beyond Duncan toward the open door and her freedom.
Duncan sneered. “Mind you, I ain’t got no fancy bedding, but I can prick you with me sword as well as he can. Maybe better.”
Behind her, the stallion shifted his weight. The knocking movement, against her back, jarred her from her frozen state of being.
“Nay!” Elizabeth swung out her foot.
I will not allow this to happen again. Not now, not when I’ve put the past behind me.
Still holding her tightly, Duncan stepped aside and her swing fell short. He laughed.
Anger built like a teakettle about to boil. What kind of chance will I have with Philip, if ‘twere Duncan I see when I close my eyes, or his foul kiss remembered on my lips?
She gave him a hostile glare, and struggled to her full height.
I’ll scratch out your eyes you no good… She raised her hands to his face. Her fingers curled, she reached out to attack. But before she had a chance to rip those ogling blues from their sockets, Duncan let out a sharp cry of pain and blood dripped to the ground.
Chapter Twenty
“Why you bastard!” Duncan shoved Elizabeth aside.
Her shoulder hit the stall. She tripped over her gown, but managed to keep her balance.
He stared down at his bloody hand. His nostrils flared. Hatred lit his eyes as he glanced up at the stallion.
“You no good --bite me, will you…” His face glowing with rage, he whirled around like a crazy man and bolted into a stall.
Quickly she put her foot in the stirrup and hoisted herself up. Her dress bunched beneath her and her other foot got tangled in the fabric, but she managed to position herself on the horse’s back.
Duncan grabbed a metal hoe, swiveled quickly and proceeded toward her.
Frightened by the prospect of his attack, the stallion moved about restlessly. Ears back, he shook his head, fighting the bit she held a little too tightly. His tail furiously swished back and forth.
Elizabeth yanked her dress free and pulled the reins to the side. Instead of following her lead, the horse fought her. Snorting, he stomped the ground in a sidestep motion, but stayed in place.
Duncan, closer now, lifted his arm to strike the animal.
Icy cold fingers of dread chilled her. “Duncan nay! I beseech you.”
“Get down right now, or you can both go to hell.”
Beneath her, the stallion grew more frantic.
She pulled the reins to the right.
Duncan swung.
The horse moved sideways; neighed an urgent warning.
A swoosh of air parted only inches from Elizabeth’s leg.
Blood drained from her face.
Suddenly the horse erupted. He reared up on his hind legs.
Slipping, Elizabeth threw herself forward and grabbed a handful of the stallion’s hair. The coarse mane scratched her face. His earthy smell filled her nostrils.
Nickering, neighing, he pawed the air before Duncan.
Startled, Duncan froze.
The stallion’s paws hit the ground; the impact so intense the wind knocked from her lungs.
Duncan fell with a thud and lay motionless in the settling dust.
A chilling silence enveloped the barn.
Her breathing short, clipped, Elizabeth stared, shocked.
Was he dead? A trickle of blood ran down his gashed forehead where the stallions’ paw had hit him.
She began to shake as fearful images built in her mind. The villagers would hang her. No one would believe ‘twasn’t her doing.
Her breath solidified in her throat.
Would they believe he attacked her? Would a jury care?
She clenched her hand until her nails entered her palm.
She should go for help.
The horse shook his head, quivered beneath her, and snorted.
Was he breathing?
The silence increased with frightening intensity.
Her heart thumped, out of control.
What an awful fix she had gotten herself into.
She began to slip down from the stallion’s back when Duncan groaned.
Elizabeth flinched, then jerked to a sitting position.
A wave of relief washed over her.
With a final glance to the Duncan, she reined Silvertip around his body, heeled the animal and the horse bolted through the door, a blur of thudding hoofs and flying mane.
***
Philip slammed his fist into the wall not even flinching from the pain.
Damn her! Damn Elizabeth and her lies.
His pulse hammered in his temples.
Flexing and un-flexing his hand, he paced furiously back and forth across his study. The floorboards creaked and groaned beneath his heavy steps.
How could she…
He had taken her in; made sure she had all the comforts his home could offer, food, clothing, a roof over her head.
She lied to me. She has a family; a guardian to be exact.
He gulped down a swig of brandy.
His steps thunderous, he strode to the window and threw back the curtain. The evening sky held no stars and the moon slipped behind a misty cloud. He peered down the long dirt road that led away from his home.
Where in the bloody hell are you?
He had expected her to be here when he’d returned home.
His gaze darted about the landscape. Only the darkness filled his vision.
Damn her.
He turned away with a start. The curtain slipped from his fingers.
He had learned a great many things from Mr. Skent about her person; many things about her guardian. Thievery stood high on Skent’s list.
Anxiety churned with anger.
The soft candlelight of the chandelier spilling forth a warm glow upon his walls comforted him not. In fact, the light, a reminder of the darkness beyond his window and Elizabeth’s absence, irritated him.
He poured himself another drink.
What if she is hurt?
His nerves tensed.
In danger?
He took another swig. The fiery liquid slithered down his throat.
He would never forgive himself.
He slammed his glass to the table.
It had been his angry words that had driven her from his home; her ruination; his refusal of marriage.
A flash of grief ripped through him, tearing at his gut.
Perhaps she is gone for good.
He spread his hands flat against his desk and hunched forward.
Nay. Mary said she had gone for a ride. She will return.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
Elizabeth’s face flashed before him.
Annoyed, he jerked his shoulders back straightening his stance and began to pace, as frustration built stronger and anger overshadowed concern.
Trying to erase the throbbing pain drumming in his head, he massaged his temples. But nothing could erase Elizabeth’s smile from his mind; nor her eyes, so innocent, yet deceiving. Never again would he trust a woman.
“Damn them all to hell.”
All of them; her, Rebecca, and his wife’s lover, Jonathan Tisdale. Just thinking that name, left a bitter taste in his mouth.
He reached for the decanter of brandy, poured the liquor into a glass and downed another drink. Then another.
Damn them all!
He drained his glass.
Elizabeth had lied to him; betrayed him.
Again, he reached for the bottle and poured; and drank and poured…
A door creaked on its hinges. He jerked his head toward the sound.
“Where have you been?” he demanded bitterly.
Elizabeth’s face appeared flush from the wind. “For a ride.”
His gait quick, he stopped before her. “I want an explanation.”
“An explanation for what?” She shrugged. “I just went for a ride.”
“Duncan is dead,” he said between clenched teeth.
Astonishment flashed across her face.
“You--” he pointed, “were the last to see him alive.”
“What? I--He was alive when I left. I swear it on my mother’s grave.” She stared at him, her eyes saucer wide.
His mind clouded and he lost his train of thought. Damn, his head hurt. His pulse hammered in his temples.
He had learned a great many things about Elizabeth today. Many things that spoke of a different side to a person he thought he knew.
“Nona saw you rushing from the barn as though the devil was on your tail.” He swallowed, tasting the brandy still on his tongue.
He glared at her. Who was this woman standing before him? Liar? Murder?
“Perhaps then ‘twas she who was the last to see him.” Her eyes confronted him with a defiant, direct gaze.
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