“Yes, a pale little thing, with big eyes. Utterly average, really, I cannot imagine a gentleman like him settling for someone like her.”
“Maybe she has a bit of personality?” Miss West offered.
“Not that I have seen. She’s silent as death, and when she speaks, you should hear the airs she puts on. You would think she is Queen Victoria herself!”
“Maybe he is enchanted, growing up next to that forest. I have heard some awful tales.”
“Don’t be daft. Those are just stories mothers tell their children to keep them minding.”
“I would like to see you going for a stroll during a Thorn Dwellers’ moon.”
She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Let’s take this washing in. It won’t dry out here in this wet.”
The sounds of the gravel crunching beneath their feet pulled Catherine from her reverie. How disgraceful, to eavesdrop on the maids! Tears pricked her eyes, and even trying to blame herself did not take away the sting their words left. She backtracked the way she came, hoping to avoid an uncomfortable run-in with the gossiping maids. If she had been a braver woman, or even a brasher one, she would have confronted the two of them. However, her deeply ingrained manners kept her from doing so.
She hurried along the path, blinded by her tears. The fog seemed to be growing rather than dissipating, and before too long she did not know where she was. She looked up, and the house loomed in the distance—a two-story manor, ivy clinging to its sides. The shutters were closed, and in the swirling fog, one would think no one resided there. Trees lined the path on which she had stumbled upon, but from the overgrown nature of the beds, she suspected few came this way. A bench beneath an oak tree promised a good spot to rest and recollect herself.
The sun struggled to break through the haze, and she shivered.
A breeze prickled the hairs on the back of her neck. Catherine looked up as the fog shifted and revealed a copse of tangled dark trees. They lay thirty paces from where she sat, beyond the line of oaks and swirling with mist. The branches seemed to reach out for one another, grasping and twisting until she could not decipher where one tree started and the other ended.
It struck her as odd to see such an untamed place among the manicured lawns and well-cared-for hedges and flower beds, well, except for these at her feet. It occurred to her: this must be the place of which the housekeeper had spoken. A fine mess she had gotten into, she could not even follow a simple command. No wonder the servants had thought her unworthy of Edward; she was a simple, plain girl.
Tears were threatening the back of her lids once more when a faint song drifted on the wind. Catherine lifted her head to listen, straining to catch the tune. It beckoned to her. She stood and edged towards the end of the gravel path where the manicured lawns opened up into the wild forest. The song grew clearer, if she just stepped a few feet closer…
“I would not do that,” an amused male voice said.
Catherine tensed and then twirled on the ball of her foot.
A man with dark hair and eyes regarded her, with a rake slung over his shoulder. His white teeth flashed against his olive skin, and a pearl drop dangled from his left earlobe. Catherine stared at the pearl; it seemed familiar. He grinned at her staring, and her stomach constricted. She ducked her head, realizing how rude she had been.
“Haven’t you heard the stories?” he asked, perhaps choosing to ignore her ill manners.
The sensible thing to do would to politely excuse herself, but her mouth moved without her consent. “What stories?”
“Those are the Thorn Dwellers’ Woods, creatures of the night who lure you in with their song before they take your heart and soul.”
She shivered and pulled her arms close to her. There was a reason she hated the untamed places, they were full of dark, strange things. A humanoid figure covered in fur came to mind. The image startled her in its clarity. What could make her think of such a thing?
“What an awful tale,” she said and hated the haughty contempt of her voice. He smiled again, and she squirmed. “I should be heading back. It was a pleasure speaking with you.” She attempted to move past him. It had been anything but; however, good manners had been ingrained in her like breathing.
“How are you feeling, mistress?” he asked before she could get two steps.
She turned to face him. “What do you mean?” She searched his face. It seemed familiar, but they had only just met, had they not?
“You and the master arrived late after a long journey. I thought you would be tired.” He grinned again, and she had the sneaking suspicion that there was more to his question than a friendly inquiry. Her cheeks burned when she realized this must be some sort of joke.
“I know what everyone here thinks of me, and perhaps they are right, but I am not stupid. If you wish to laugh at my expense, at least give me the decency of telling me what is so amusing.” She clamped her hand over her mouth. How could she speak like that to a total stranger! What would Mother think if she saw her now?
“My apologies, mistress. There is no trick. I am genuinely concerned for your health.” He bowed and extended his arms as he did so. His movements were as fluid as water and as elegant as a dancer.
His canniness should have been alarming. Instead, he intrigued her. “What is your name? We have yet to be introduced properly.”
“My name is Rai, mistress.”
“You have no surname?”
“It’s Thorn, Rai Thorn.” He smirked, and Catherine felt the immediate urge to leave. She had the sensation she was sure the mouse felt when cornered by the cat.
“It is a pleasure, Mr. Thorn. I should be going back to the house now.”
“The pleasure is all mine.”
She hurried up the path, and when she turned around at the end of the path to glance at him once more, he had disappeared.
Chapter Three
Catherine sat before her vanity, and her pale reflection stared back at her. The maid shuffled about the room, stoking the fire and carrying away a bucket of ashes. Rain pattered on the window outside, and Catherine sighed.
I hate this place. I wish I could return home to Momma and Poppa. She shook her head. With thoughts like that, you do sound selfish. You are very fortunate and should be happy with your lot.
However, Catherine could not shake the eerie feeling her new home gave her. After her walk, Mrs. Moira, the housekeeper had given her a tour of the manor. She showed her both wings and the family portraits. Each generation seemed to maintain the same stamp about their features. Dark hair and eyes, all gentlemen of authority, all too far above her station. She could not help but feel she did not belong here in this grand manor with servants to attend upon her every whim; it did not set well with her.
Now she prepared for dinner with the neighbors when all she wanted to do was lie down and hope she would appreciate her fortunate lot in the morning light.
Perhaps I should claim to be too ill for company. I feel as if I am going mad. I cannot shake this feeling that I have forgotten something important.
“Mistress?” the maid said in a shy voice, interrupting her musing.
“Yes, Miss…?” Catherine turned on the bench to face the maid.
“Smith, ma’am.” The maid bowed, and her cheeks colored slightly.
Catherine smiled and hoped it seemed genuine. She desperately wanted the people of her husband’s household to like her. “Miss Smith, how can I be of assistance?”
“I believe I can be of assistance to you, mistress. You see, I know I should not have, but I overheard some of the men talking when they carried you in last night, and well…”
Catherine half-stood from her chair without realizing it. She realized belatedly and tried to cover the motion by stepping over to her wardrobe and admiring her gown for the evening. “You mean when we arrived last night,” she said, more than a little puzzled by the maid’s words.
Miss Smith glanced around as if expecting an interruption. “No, mistress, when
you and the master arrived, you were carried in. You were both unconscious.”
Catherine stiffened as an image of a lumbering beast ran towards her, elongated claws gleaming in the moonlight. She shook her head, trying to disengage the ghastly imagery.
Miss Smith seemed unaware of her mistress’ distress because she continued. “I know what you saw. I have seen it too. Folks around here try to pretend it doesn’t exist, but I refuse to ignore it.”
Catherine stood rigid, her back turned to Miss Smith. The prior night’s events replayed through her mind in cruel clarity. “Please tell me, what is that creature?”
A sharp knock at the door drew both of their attentions. Miss Smith looked like a deer caught in line of a hunter. They both continued to stare as another knock echoed across the chamber.
“Catherine, darling, it’s Edward.”
Catherine exhaled; only Edward and, from the sound of it, he was feeling better. Catherine motioned to head for the door, but Miss Smith stopped her.
“No, ma’am, I’ll get it.” She shook her head as if she could not believe Catherine would do such a thing as answer a door herself. Before she opened it, she whispered, “Meet me tonight, after dinner by the kitchen door. We’ll talk.”
Catherine would much rather have forgotten the unpleasant event, but Miss Smith blocked the door, awaiting her answer. Feeling cowed by the girl’s hopeful gaze, she hesitantly agreed with a small nod. Miss Smith exhaled and then opened the door.
“Oh, Catherine, I beg your pardon for having kept you waiting.” Edward swept into the room with a smile.
Catherine stepped back. His exuberance coupled with the grisly memories of the night before were jarring.
She recovered and, recalling his injuries, asked, “Edward, I hope you are well after last night’s events.”
He pulled up short as he was about to embrace her. His eyes seemed to lose focus as he regarded her. “Darling—what?” He shook his head. “I am wonderful, my darling. I have endured worse journeys with far less handsome company.”
Catherine blushed at the compliment, but his avoidance of the attack struck her as strange. “Has the doctor been around to check your injury from when the creature attacked you?”
Once more, the blank glassy-eyed expression crossed his mien. “My, you have an active imagination. I cannot wait to share your wit with the neighbors.” He spoke in a robotic disconnected tone as if he were reciting a script.
She should not have pressed him, but it made no sense. How could he forget such an event? True, she had forgotten until Miss Smith had mentioned it. “You are acting strange. Do you have a fever?” Perhaps they should cancel dinner and have him rest.
“No, my darling, I am just acting as a man in love does.”
He fixed her with an intense gaze. She took a step back and ran into the vanity. He pinned her there, and his breath fanned across her neck. Catherine shifted uncomfortably and glanced to the place she had last seen Miss Smith, but she seemed to have slipped out. Which was for the best; she would hate the servants to see him acting so strangely.
“Won’t the guests be arriving soon?” Catherine said in a vain attempt to extricate herself from the situation.
“Too soon,” he murmured as he captured her lips with his. A warm sensation tingled in her stomach, radiating out and spreading to her extremities. This kiss was so much different from his other kisses, the brief peck at the altar and the good-night kiss they had shared upon their wedding night, whereupon he collapsed on their shared bed, leaving her a maiden for another day.
“I have only just realized I have yet to do for you what a husband aught.”
Catherine inhaled sharply and looked about as if afraid someone might hear such a crass thing.
He tugged on one of her curls and drew her eyes back to him. “There’s no need to be shy, Catherine. We are husband and wife now.”
Never before had she felt so conflicted, so unsure. Yes, he was her husband, but she was not ready, not in the slightest. She had hardly had time to accept that she truly was married. This came so suddenly, she did not know what to think or how to react. She had expected this; her mother had spoken briefly about her duties as Edward’s wife. It did not make them any easier to swallow.
He stepped back and then kissed her on the brow. “Come to dinner, darling.”
He strode over to the door, and Catherine steadied herself on the vanity. Her skin felt warm all over, and her stomach fluttered. What a sight I must look! she thought. Catherine peered at her flushed face in the mirror. At least now she had some color.
Edward waited for Catherine by the door with an arm bent, like the gentleman she remembered. His actions had been so unexpected it forced any other thought about the night before from her mind.
He leaned in, and his mouth caressed her ear. “We’ll take it slow. I can see you are nervous.”
She could have cried from relief. However, it did not change the fact that her husband had a certain expectation come the night’s end, and the thought filled her mind with dread. What if he was disappointed? What if he grew tired of her? Had he heard what the servants said about her?
Catherine could not entertain such thoughts for long because, in the parlor, their guests awaited them.
“Darling, this is Dr. McCrae and his wife, Mrs. McCrae,” Edward said.
A middle-aged couple stepped forward. The doctor had thinning red hair plastered to his head and spectacles on his round nose, and she, gray hair and a long, thin face. He took Catherine’s hand and gave it a firm shake. His wife, black hair streaked charmingly with gray, gave her a half smile, which stretched her thin face.
She took both of Catherine’s hands in hers and said, “What a sweet creature you are, Mrs. Thornton.” Then to Edward she exclaimed, “You have not done her beauty justice.”
Edward beamed. “How does one describe the sun to someone who has lived their entire life in the dark?”
Catherine colored at the compliment. Never in her life had someone likened her to the sun. Perhaps the old adage of blind love had more truth to it than she previously thought.
“And this,” he motioned to an older man with white hair and a lined face, “is Colonel Hart.”
“Madame.” He bowed at the waist.
“Shall we, ladies and gentlemen?” Edward said to his guests and showed them into the dining room.
Catherine had to admit, it was a much more inviting room with others there enjoying a meal. Mrs. McCrae was keen on talking to Catherine about the latest fashions and going on and on about how they had not had a ball in seasons. Edward and Dr. McCrae discussed village business and Edward’s plans to expand the gardens south towards the wild woods out back. Colonel Hart had kept to himself most of the evening. But during the second course he spoke up.
“Edward, I have something I must say, and forgive me for being blunt, but what madness drove you to travel during a Thorn Dwellers’ moon?”
The room fell silent but for the clatter of silverware; Dr. McCrae had dropped his fork.
Mrs. McCrae laughed, and it tinkled off the walls and fell to silence.
“Forgive me, Colonel, but those are just old superstitions,” Edward said with a raised brow. The edged tone to his voice, however, made Catherine perk up. Had not Mr. Thorn mentioned the Thorn Dwellers’ moon that night? What are the Thorn Dwellers? she wondered. Was that the creature that had attacked their carriage?
“That’s not what your father thought. He believed, as I do, that the woods behind your house are full of dreadful things, and to take a young woman out on their night is to court disaster.”
Catherine sat poised on the edge of her chair, her eyes boring into the colonel, begging him silently to continue.
However, Dr. McCrae interrupted by saying, “Edward, my wife is beside herself. You must have a ball to welcome your bride.”
“What a delightful idea. What do you think, darling?” Edward turned to Catherine.
She glanced between Edward a
nd Colonel Hart. She desperately wished they would continue their conversation, but from the way the colonel had once more lapsed into silence and Edward had changed the subject, she took it to mean the topic was closed for conversation. Though she knew with certainty, something was amiss in this neighborhood.
“Whatever you wish, my dear,” she said with a small smile.
Miss Smith rubbed her hands along her arms, hoping the friction would generate some heat to warm her freezing body. A steady stream of rain fell off the roof and dripped on the stone near her shoes.
I hope Mrs. Thornton comes soon, she thought.
The creak of a door turned her attention, and she stumbled back upon seeing the occupant.
“Oh, you gave me a fright. Is there anything I can help you with? I do not think you’re supposed to be out here.”
The figure stepped forward, and Miss Smith backed out into the rain, the fat droplets soaking her bonnet.
“Stay back, I am warning you.”
She tripped over a stray gardening rake and fell into a puddle with a splash. She threw her arms up as if to shield herself but had no time to scream. The jaws of the creature silenced her, and the pattering of rain washed away all evidence of Miss Smith’s demise.
Chapter Four
The following morning, a different maid came to help Catherine dress. Though she assured her she did not need help picking out her dress or styling her hair, the woman insisted on helping with little enthusiasm.
“Where is Miss Smith?” Catherine asked as the woman buttoned her gown.
The maid peered over her shoulder and met her gaze in the vanity mirror. “Miss Smith, mistress?”
“The woman who helped me dress for dinner last night,” Catherine elaborated.
The young woman frowned. “Mistress, that was me. I am Miss Wells.”
Catherine shook her head but dared not argue with the woman, lest she think her obstinate. But she knew for certain the woman the night before had been a different one. Miss Wells was a round-faced girl with fair hair, while Miss Smith had been a slight woman with red hair.
Those Who Dwell in the Thorns Page 2
