As the carriage passed, the dark velvet curtains were drawn back, and Catherine got the impression of a woman peering out at her from the carriage window but had little time to process the exchange. When she looked up again, Miss Jones was standing on the opposite side of the road.
Miss Jones’ eyes widened, and she turned her head away. Catherine caught the subtle avoidance, and her gut clenched and her mind begged her to do the same, but instead she raised a hand in greeting and ran across to her, calling out her name.
“Miss Jones!” Catherine said and hurried across the street. “I was on my way to see you.”
“How fortunate you caught me. I was on my way into the village,” she said with a lowered gaze, and Catherine had the feeling Miss Jones was not pleased by the chance meeting. Catherine, too, wanted to flee. Her mind seemed torn between two consciousnesses: the Catherine who spoke and acted like someone she did not recognize, and her true self, who was mortified by her own actions.
“Then I will join you on your walk, I have a few things to prepare for the ball this Saturday,” she lied and was startled by the ease of it.
The two women walked in silence for a few moments before Miss Jones spoke again. “I apologize for yesterday. I did not mean to intrude.”
“Oh, think nothing of it. Edward is so amiable. I should have expected it from him.”
Miss Jones winced, and her shoulders drooped. “Well, I am glad I did not offend.”
“Not at all, my dear Henrietta. You don’t mind if I call you Henrietta, do you?” Catherine lifted an arched brow as she had seen Emma do. What a forward woman Miss Jones must think I am! Catherine fretted, but she could no sooner correct the assumption before Miss Jones replied, “Not at all,” the tension in her shoulders, however, told a different story.
Catherine was appalled by her manner. She tried to take back the request, but the words became tangled on her tongue. When she managed to speak again, only venom spilled forth. “I must say, Henrietta, I heard the most amusing rumor. My dear sister, Emma, told me that everyone in Thornwood thought Edward would marry you! How droll!”
“Very amusing,” Henrietta said to the ground.
“Can you imagine? You, practically his sister, and I do not mean to offend, but you would only receive a thousand pounds a year from your father, correct? What man of Edward’s stature would choose such an ill-connected woman? By the by, is your father in trade?”
Henrietta colored. “Papa is a gentleman, I can assure you. We are not as advantageously placed as some, I can imagine, but my mother runs an economical household, and we manage to get by.”
Catherine stopped, and Henrietta continued walking a few more steps before realizing Catherine was no longer beside her.
“Mrs. Thornton?”
Momma always made due with little; she never complained when cook burnt the Sunday goose or when she had to mend the curtains because the maids just didn’t have enough time. We did live at the edge of our means, yet Edward had chosen me. Why? I am no better than Miss Jones—she refused to call her by her first name inside her head though the other woman had given her permission to do so—
“I was surprised to hear Edward had passed on marrying you. What man would overlook such a charming creature, and I am sure you are very accomplished as well, all proper ladies are,” Catherine said, speaking her true mind for the first time in ages.
Henrietta smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. Despite Catherine’s candor, she thought her to be supercilious. “Edward and I were only friends, nothing more.”
“Oh, you do not have to guard your feelings from me, Henrietta.” Catherine wanted to clamp her hands over her mouth to cease the vapid words that spilled from her tongue. This was not right; these were not her words. The momentary return to her true thoughts was lost, and once more she had lost control of her will.
Henrietta paused as if considering her response. “I had an offer of marriage from Mr. Wilson, a friend of Edward, from Cambridge. I did not love him, and I rejected the offer.”
The ground sank beneath Catherine. Her lungs closed, and she felt as if she were suffocating. All of her suspicions had been true. She was nothing but a second choice. Was her marriage at risk from this woman? The world span as Catherine thought the most horrendous things she had ever thought about another person. Her palm itched to be flung across her rival’s face. She glared at Henrietta without speaking.
“Mrs. Thornton?” she said.
The pulse along Henrietta’s neck beat visibly beneath her pale skin. Her chest rose and fell with a steady rhythm, mocking Catherine. How dare she tell her this with an indifferent tone? How could she deliver such a crushing blow without a care? She imagined how simple it would be to wrap her hands around that petite throat and watch as Henrietta slowly turned blue, her eyes bulging in their sockets. She imagined she would fight and the bonnet upon her head would come askew and her coifed hair would be undone, and in the end all her beauty would be for naught, and Catherine would be the victor.
“Mrs. Thornton, you are scaring me. Answer me!” Henrietta shrieked.
Catherine lowered her arms in a daze. Had she been about to enact her twisted fantasies? What had come over her? She must get away now before she did something else she would regret. She had ashamed herself and her husband with her behavior. Now that she was once more in control of her body, however, she used it to flee. She picked up her skirt and ran down the lane. She tore through a side gate past the kitchen garden. Down the gravel path that wound behind the house and emptied past the shrubbier to a tree-lined pathway at the south end. She did not stop running until she came to a stop at the edge of the forest, where the tamed garden met the wild woods.
The Thorn Dwellers’ Woods, Mr. Thorn had called it. Those Who Dwelled in the Thorns, he named them. Her heart hammered in her chest, and her mind felt in a fog. No matter how hard she tried, she felt inexplicably drawn to this place. Then a song began, the words indescribable, the tune nothing she had ever heard before. She closed her eyes, and it was as if she could hear someone beckoning to her.
“Come home, sister.”
“You belong with us.”
She opened her eyes, and Mr. Thorn was leaning against a nearby tree.
“It’s time you learned the truth about yourself, Catherine.”
She had been avoiding thoughts of him, letting herself get lost in her troubles with Edward, but now that he was standing before her, she could not run any longer. Colonel Hart had warned her to stay away from this place, that they would steal her heart and she would never be seen again. In that moment, she did not care if they did. She wanted Mr. Thorn to be that monster from that night, something that would take her away from her troubles.
“Why did Edward choose me? Does it have something to do with you and the forest?” She nodded towards the woods, where the branches swayed and the ominous song floated on the wind.
Mr. Thorn stood up and walked towards her; the languid movements of his steps were infuriating. He did not speak, only stared at her. She tilted her head back and was preparing a reprimand when his lips claimed hers.
A sensible woman would have shoved him away, should have rejected his advance, but instead she melted into him and let his tongue sweep against hers. Instead of the exploratory kiss of a lover, as Edward had kissed her, Mr. Thorn’s kiss felt more invasive and nearly painful. A blossom of pain erupted at the base of her spine, and she jerked away, but he pressed her against his slender body. Fire burned all of her extremities, and she clawed at his back and dug her nails into his flesh in an attempt to make him release her, but still the kiss continued and the pain redoubled until she was beginning to see starbursts behind her eyes like sparklers she had seen at a circus sideshow.
When she thought she could bear the pain no more, it ended. Mr. Thorn withdrew, and Catherine collapsed to her knees in an exhausted heap.
“I apologize, but that was the fastest way to remove the poison.”
Catherine had no wo
rds but touched her fingers to her lips, where the feeling of him still burned.
He kneeled down beside her and pushed a stray strand of hair from her eye. “Tonight, come to the forest dance, and I promise I will explain everything. For now, sleep.”
Catherine’s eyes grew heavy and her tongue thick, and her mouth would not listen to her commands but now from exhaustion. She had so many questions, but the promise of sleep was too great, and she let its embrace take her.
Edward clutched at his chest. His heart felt ready to burst. The blinding pain doubled him over, and he fought for air. He was not sure what had brought him to the window at that moment, but the sight before him had sent that now-familiar pain coursing through him. He roared. His suspicions had been correct, Catherine was unfaithful and with one of his own staff. He stumbled across the room, grasping at chairs for support before overturning a desk chair and falling to the floor in the fetal position.
He had to confront the clandestine pair. Needles pricked his skin, and fire burned in his blood. He arched his back as the bones cracked and stretched. What is happening to me? he thought. Why would Catherine betray me? He snatched at his chest, tearing open his vest and ripping the buttons off his shirt, which scattered on the ground with a patter. His nail beds elongated, and the nails grew and became curved and pointed. His fingers also stretched and cracked. His hair grew and came undone from a tidy tail at the base of his neck, stretching along the taut skin on his now-exposed back.
Edward writhed on the floor, his shouts of agony drowned by inhuman growls escaping his throat. When the pain receded, Edward, no longer aware of himself, rose, not a man but a beast. He howled before bounding out on all fours out the open window. He landed on his feet before taking off towards the forest, towards the place where his wife had been with her lover.
Chapter Eleven
Woken by a clarion song, Catherine sat up, wide eyed, as she peered around her into the darkness. She was cradled in a bed of vines; a blanket with feathers and tiny white flowers had been pulled up to her chin. It slid down into her lap as she sat up. She ran her hands along the soft down material. This must be a dream, she thought. Ethereal light emanated from sconces on the wall. Blue-green light danced over the rough-hewn walls, which appeared to be carved from the earth. Roots and insect holes bisected the entire area. Natural niches made from curving roots made cubby holes full of an assortment of odds and ends: glass bottles in a multitude of colors, books and bundles of herbs.
The music washed over Catherine, and she stood and padded across the moss that covered the ground. She curled her toes around it, marveling at the softness of the moss beneath her bare feet. This is the most realistic dream I have ever had. As she approached a wooden door at the far end of the chamber, the song seemed to pick up, as if the singers had been waiting for her to awaken. Intertwined in the ebb of the song, voices caressed her ears.
“Come to us, sister.”
“You are not one of them.”
“With us is where you belong.”
“The time has come to leave them behind.”
Entranced by the song and the coercing voices, she slipped through the door and out into the night. In the long shadows made by moonlight, she could nearly see dozens of pairs of gleaming eyes peering at her. She stopped to stare at them and pressed her hand over her rapidly beating heart. They did not approach her, just continued to regard her without blinking. They cannot hurt you; it is only a dream. She scurried past, giving the thickest groupings a wide berth. The eyes disappeared into the brush only to reemerge farther away. It’s as if they are leading me deeper into the forest, Catherine mused.
The path continued on, wending and turning under oak trees and thick brush bristling with thorns. What a peculiar dream, she mused. Occasionally, a gnarled, spiny and knotted hand would emerge from behind a rock or from beneath a canopy of trees. Catherine turned her gaze away when they revealed themselves, fearing them though she knew they were make-believe.
She stopped as the path intersected with a creek. She paused as icy water lapped at her bare toes. A chill crept up her spine; what kind of dream had these sensations?
“You have been gone too long,” the voices crooned, as if reading her thoughts. “It is time to return home.”
Catherine looked over her shoulder back into the darkness of the forest. She could not see the manor from here, but perhaps she wouldn’t, as this was a dream. Was it not?
The tempo of the song changed, growing more demanding and less coaxing; Catherine felt as if she were running short on time. Good sense dictated that she turn and head back. If this was not a dream, as she had begun to suspect, then she should flee this place as she had been instructed to do.
“Come before the gateway closes, hurry!” a voice whispered in her ear. She turned around, expecting Mr. Thorn, but found nothing but the empty forest. Even the eyes had left her to her decision.
Catherine waffled for several minutes, feeling as if invisible tendrils were pulling at her and urging her to cross the riverbed and take that final step. She thought of all the strange things she had encountered since arriving at Thornwood Manor and also her own childhood, which had previously been locked away at the back of her mind.
As if a final bond had been broken within her, she waded into the creek, picked up her skirt, and crossed. It was time she took a risk.
Edward landed on all fours, and his body felt as if it were ablaze. Catherine’s face dominated his thoughts. I must find her! The beast inside him roared, and he joined the sound with his own guttural moan. He ran across the grounds, loping at a steady clip towards the forest where he had spotted the illicit pair together. He jumped a hedge and landed upon the gravel path. Stones jumped upon his landing and fell back to the ground, tinkling against one another. He raised his muzzle to the sky and inhaled deeply, her scent had disappeared. The air here seemed to crackle with energy, and he could not bring himself to take another step.
He growled with frustration and paced along the edge of the path. He could see into the darkened forest, but when he attempted to move in that direction, a violent force pushed him back, nearly overturning him in the process.
“You cannot enter,” a woman’s voice said with mocking pleasure.
Edward turned, pointed canines bared. In this form he felt an animalistic need to shred and tear. He craved the iron taste of blood like he did a lover’s kiss.
The woman, a statuesque brunette of middle years, watched him from beneath a veiled hat. Edward inhaled her scent and heard the beating of her heart. He wanted to devour her. He lunged for the woman, but before he could get close, another body collided with him, and he was pinned to the ground beneath another beast.
The rows of sharp teeth and the rumble of his growl cowed Edward. He lowered his head though the intoxicating scent of the woman’s flesh promised to drive him mad.
“Do not waste your desires on me, Edward. That is not why I have given you this gift.”
The second beast eased off of Edward and gave him the opportunity to sit back on his haunches and regard the woman. Something in her voice soothed the beast, and he felt he could reason as a man inside this inhuman form. Could she read his thoughts? Had she made him into this creature?
“It was not I that transformed you but your own greed. You married Catherine, yet never gave her your heart, not fully. This is your fate.”
Edward growled his disapproval. She has been unfaithful, he thought.
“Your wife has not been unfaithful, but if you do not remedy the situation soon, she will be lost to you. Mr. Thorn is a danger to your marriage. You must dispose of him.”
Just the thought of the smug gypsy’s face boiled his blood, and he felt the sparks dancing upon his skin. He must kill Mr. Thorn and then Catherine as well!
“Do not be so hasty. Your wife is a woman, after all. She was swayed by a man’s charms. Can you blame such an innocent?”
Catherine had been a shy woman. She had never exhibited any
wanton behavior before. He conceded.
“You see, it is Mr. Thorn’s spell that she is under. Once he is gone, it will solve everything.”
Edward stood up, and the other creature growled a warning. But Edward’s anger had cooled, and he could feel his body changing, the rage dying down and being replaced with a more human countenance. Transforming back into a man was just as excruciating, but being his second time, it seemed more bearable. Edward fell to his knees and screamed as the transformation overwhelmed him.
When he next rose, the woman was gone, and he was left staring out into the forest. The same repellent feeling came from within, but he knew what must be done. He must kill Mr. Thorn.
She felt free and alive for the first time. Hands caked with mud, she made the rise of the bank. Over the edge she peered and saw faces in the trees. Not the same glowing eyes but real forms. She stood up, and elegant women, hair coifed and the color of green leaves, awaited her. They took her by the hand, and one woman with long hair like vines of a willow tree brought a basin in which she could wash.
They kneeled before her, washing her hands and feet. A girl with bird-like features and a bird mask pushed back on her head brought a gown of white silk. Though Catherine tried to protest, they would hear none of it and disrobed her and put on the thin sheath. They adorned her hair with a garland of white flowers before leading her further into the forest.
A line of people awaited her, regal men with crowns of bird’s nests upon their heads. And people with animal-like features: men with hawk noses and cloaks like the sweep of wings. Women with clever fox eyes, tawny pelts hooded with empty-eyed masks pushed back on their heads as if they merely need pull them down over their eyes and resume the forms of the animals they were.
Opening their arms to her in welcome, they led her deeper into the forest. Occasionally, a clawed hand would reach out and caress her skin or soft padded fingers would catch her hair, which trailed after her like spider webs twinkling in moonlight. Though she shivered with excitement and fear at their unfamiliar touch, she continued on, eyes fixed on the distance from whence the song emanated.
Those Who Dwell in the Thorns Page 7
