by Lynda Hurst
Puzzled at his words and angry at herself for having been deceived by this man, she demanded, “What are you going on about? None of what you said makes any sense.”
Rapidly switching from being mildly amused to unmitigated fury had him shouting, “Have you not properly studied the myths of Artemis in this past year? Do you not see that you have just proven yourself like her? Haughty in claiming your purity, yet ready to betray and discard the man who was willing to provide you the benefit of his lifelong companionship!” Spittle shot from between his lips as his volume increased, giving him the complete look of a madman.
Her usually quick mind tried to grasp his meaning, but his words only served to confound her even more. At his mention of Artemis, she was immediately able to see the parallel he was drawing for her, only it seemed that he was using Artemis as an archetype for all women, viewing them all in an unfavorable light. And now, so it seemed, he included her amongst their number only recently.
Stammering in a low voice, she said, “I-I don’t understand. Are y-you saying that I somehow betrayed and discarded someone?”
In an ugly twist of his face, he sneered, “Yes, me. Like Orion, I offered you my hand in friendship, shared my life’s work with you, and you repay me by showing me your unfaithful ways, in public, no less. I’ve watched you at the Haversham ball, flitting from one unsuspecting male onto the next, drawing them in with your feminine wiles. I would have offered for you, but your true colors presented themselves in your devious entrapment of other men.”
In horror, she realized his mind fashioned an entirely different view of events, as she knew she never had encouraged him in any way, having kept their relationship professional on her end. She instinctively knew that, at the height of his madness, nothing she said would make him deviate from his chosen way of thinking. So, she kept silent, in fear that the wrong words could further enrage him.
He continued, sadness creeping into his voice, “It is now with deep regret, I must offer you the same choice I offered the others. A chance to redeem yourself and those of your sex with what happens next.”
“Others?” she asked, barely above a whisper. Understanding hit her hard that he must have been referring to the poor girls murdered in the surrounding Donnesbury area. “And what do you mean, ‘next’? What needs to happen for me to redeem myself?”
He answered, “Yes, those before you were necessary examples for likeminded men. Our number is still small, but together we mock the goddess of the moon and her virgin followers, wreaking revenge in Orion’s name. And just like the others, you will be called upon to partake in the hunt once the full moon hits its zenith.”
Insanity gleamed in his eyes as she grew more horrified by his disturbing explanation, none of his reasoning sound. His vague description of her fate terrified her further in its lack of explicit detail, but if she was like the ‘others’ before her, she comprehended that she may be soon met with an arrow in her own heart.
Stalling under the guise of trying to understand, she asked tremulously, “Why me? Why now? There had been two full moons since the last girl; why hadn’t you acted sooner than tonight?”
Hissing in anger, he explained, “At first, I thought you were above reproach, and would never have considered you a candidate for our hunt. Not until I saw you with first Collingwood, then Revelstoke. Then earlier tonight, I spied you within the arms of Ellesmere. Does your faithlessness know no bounds? It wasn’t until the Haversham ball a month ago that I knew you were deserving of a fate all fickle females should be subjected to. With the next full moon now here, my only chance was to lure you outside with my forged note.”
“Note? What note? I never received one tonight,” she puzzled.
Taken aback at first, Mensforth quickly recovered, and said, “The note is no longer of any consequence. What matters is that you’re here now, and if my hearing is to be believed, the rest of the company has already arrived.”
Alarmed that she hadn’t noticed the refrain of multiple male voices approaching, she snapped her gaze past Mensforth’s shoulder as five masked men joined them and stopped just behind Mensforth. Before turning to face the men, Mensforth slipped on a mask over his features then addressed the gathered assembly. “Friends, we have a special guest with us tonight.”
One of their number spied Margaret and gasped in outrage. “Another noblewoman? Good God, man, do you know who she is? Her brother will have our heads! And with British soldiers on the hunt for us? Are you mad?”
Margaret was the only one to see the glint of a knife flash before Mensforth whirled on the man who had spoken and slit his throat, silencing him forever. Blood splattered wetly across the cavern floor at the swift action just as the man’s body fell at Mensforth’s feet only to bleed profusely out of the inflicted wound. Margaret watched in horror as the dying man struggled for breath, until in his last moments, his body shuddered one last time before remaining still. The remaining four were frozen in stunned silence at the occurrence, disbelieving of their leader’s true measure of insanity.
Either in fear or disgust, the four men fled, not wanting to share the same space or air with a lunatic. Mensforth did not seem too affected by their desertion; he only shrugged at Margaret and moved to the back of the cavern. Her gaze followed his movement, and she was surprised to learn that there was more to the cavern than she had originally thought. What she had thought was a small space was actually deeper, and it served as an ample repository for numerous objects Mensforth had stored here.
As though he felt her gaze, he explained, “We are on my property, bought in a private sale eight years ago.” She suddenly recalled the information she had gleaned from Edwin Revelstoke’s account ledger. “This is where I have kept all of my best treasures, and this is one of them.” In his hands, he held the Artemis relief, showcasing it in all of its age-roughened glory.
Continuing, he crossed over to Margaret, and said silkily, “And I have been made aware of late of its sudden importance to you. I did receive your note, the one requesting to view this piece, but by then I was so angry with you, I refused to send you a response. Now, I don’t know why it is important to you, and quite frankly, it no longer matters to me as I would much rather we play a game with this as the prize.”
“Game?” she asked lamely, while he loosened the cords around her wrists and ankles. Once she was free, he swiftly rounded his bloodied knife on her, its tip held precariously close to her heart.
“Yes, but first I must ask you The Question that has always been put to the others before you. Like the goddess Artemis, do you claim that your body still remains pure and untouched by any man?”
Viewing the question as insulting, she angrily spat, “Of course! I don’t see why you deem that important!”
“Good. Now, I present you with a choice. Either I kill you here and now or you can choose to be the prey to my hunter, with the chance that you will be set free, if you can manage to survive until dawn. Only then will I release you, and you will then be awarded this artifact. Which will you choose?”
With a small measure of defiance, she asked, “What are the rules of the game if I choose to play?”
“Ah, always the forethinker. In short, I have placed outside the entrance of this cavern, a bow together with a quiver containing a single arrow to afford you a fighting chance against me. I will allow you a five-minute head start, then we shall see who is the better hunter. Artemis? Or Orion? The game ends at dawn, and if you are still breathing by then, the artifact is yours, and you are free to go home.”
Incredulity at this macabre game forced her tongue into silence, not knowing what the outcome of this game would be. Fear arose in her, believing that he somehow manipulated this farce of a game to his advantage, and it prompted her into asking, “How do I know that I have a fair chance at winning?”
Mensforth tsked and explained, “My dear, I would never stoop to a female’s level of such devious thinking. It wouldn’t be sporting of me to cheat when I do so love
the thrill of the hunt.”
“But—” she began, trying to stall for more time, but he stopped her in an ominous voice, “The game begins now. I suggest you use what time I’ve so generously allotted for you before I come find you.”
Without further argument, she sped out of the cavern still clad in her ruined evening gown, hoisting her skirts as she ran. As he had promised, she spotted the one concession he allowed her: the bow and arrow as her only defense against a crazed madman. Into the woods, she ran, using the moonlight to ensure that each step fell securely on the forest floor; she feared the consequence if she were to stumble and allow Abraham to catch her.
***
Feeling the cold more sharply while not dressed for a jaunt in the woods, Margaret shivered against the tree trunk she was hiding behind. Every little noise within the vast woods had her on edge, and the snapping of a twig that sounded too close had her plastering herself against the wide trunk for cover. She held her bow low as she hid, ready to raise it if Mensforth was indeed the source of the noise. Drawing her bow high as she moved from the shelter of her hiding place, she was relieved to find instead a frightened rabbit scampering away and through the underbrush.
With the full moon, her green silk evening gown was like a beacon to anyone from a good distance, and she despaired of hiding any longer within the woods. In addition, she feared she would surely die of exposure first if she managed to evade Abraham. Running until the dawn arrived would only serve to see her frozen, and she would much rather have the option of surprising Abraham with an offensive hit before he had the chance to strike her down himself.
Possessing a single arrow meant that she would have to strike true and with enough force to lay him low. To accomplish this part of her plan, she needed a better vantage point, and she was grateful that her father had indulged her enough as a child to have allowed her to learn the unladylike skill of climbing trees. Surveying the trees about her, she found one with a low enough branch for her to hoist herself up and additionally contained enough thick foliage for her to remain hidden, her green gown now blending in with its leafy branches. Once she was high enough, she straddled a thick branch, kept her bow ready at her side, and prepared herself for Abraham to make an appearance.
Fortunately, she was shielded from view as well as from the night breeze, as high as she was. For she spotted Abraham stalking silently from the direction she herself had come from, and her breath hitched in the knowledge that he was close. Thankfully, her cumulative practices in archery had developed her strength, and she was confident that, at this close a distance, her arrow would do more than knock him off of his feet. Carefully and silently, she drew her bow taut, sighting along her arrow at the man below who didn’t have an inkling of the danger he was in.
***
Mensforth lost Margaret’s trail suddenly, no longer hearing the rustle of her heavy skirts crashing through the forest’s brush. He didn’t think it possible that a female like her could evade him for this long, but it shouldn’t have surprised him, as he had deemed her once as one of the most intelligent women he had ever met. He guessed she must have found a better hiding place than the others did; they had foolishly thought that they could outrun him, but none of them lasted longer than twenty minutes.
If he were to check his pocket watch now, he gathered that it was probably past thirty minutes since they started. And he marveled again at just how special Margaret was, so unlike the others he had hunted before. She was a worthy quarry, and he delighted in this new experience she created for him. It really was a pity that she was a discredit to those of her sex, unable to rise above the ways of Eve since the Garden of Eden.
Stymied by her sudden disappearance and the eerie silence in the forest, he lowered his bow for a moment. His failure to hear the rustle of silk masked by the sound of the leaves brushing against each other in the slight wind gave Margaret the opportunity she was searching for. Lowering his guard soon proved his downfall, as he reacted too slow to the unmistakable sound of an arrow whistling ever closer.
24
On horseback, Frederick led the way by torchlight onto former Revelstoke land, as Jackson and Devlin followed closely behind him. Nobley also accompanied them, with three of His Majesty’s soldiers bringing up the rear.
It had been four hours since Margaret had been abducted, and Jackson was anxious to get to her, fear for her tightening his throat uncomfortably. No amount of telling himself to be calm for her sake would quell the tension high inside him, squeezing his gut. With much effort, he willed away the negative what-ifs that would only mire him further into despair, especially when he needed to cling to the hope that Mensforth would stay his hand long enough for them to rescue her.
Frederick halted his horse, signaling those behind him to do the same as it was apparent that the trees grew too close together for their horses to go further. As luck would have it, there was a riderless horse tied to a nearby tree grazing lazily, and Jackson’s heart leaped with hope, knowing instinctively that this was Mensforth’s horse.
Everyone dismounted as Frederick pointed into the gloom of the forest and said, “If I recall aright, there is a deep cavern hidden through those trees. It’s a fair jaunt on foot, but there is no other choice.”
Holding their torches aloft, the men slowly made their way through the trees with Frederick at the lead. Jackson worriedly wished that their progress wasn’t so hampered by the increased density of the trees, but he had to trust that Frederick would get them to Margaret as quickly as they could.
A sudden shout knifed through the air unexpectedly, a male by its low, guttural sound, and Jackson altered his course towards it. The men with him followed suit and chased after him, crashing through the forest brush behind him.
Thankfully, it wasn’t a female shout, but in Jackson’s mind, that didn’t mean that Margaret was free from danger. He needed visual confirmation that she was all right before he could fully release the band of tension constricting at his heart.
Whatever Jackson expected to come upon when they finally reached the scream’s source left him ill-prepared for the sight before him. Immobilized by the shock from what he was seeing, his brain tried to reconcile the bizarre picture of Mensforth pinned to a tree, groaning and shaking as he tried to grip the arrow that was deeply embedded into his shoulder. Nobley and the soldiers rushed to help the man, but they were stopped by a female voice from on high that shouted, “No! He’s the man who killed all those women!”
Even more shocking than the sight of Mensforth brought low was the sight of Margaret scrambling down from a tree. Not twenty paces to his left, she climbed down, nimble and sure like she had climbed a tree every day of her life. And in the evening gown she still wore, no less, with the addition of a bow strapped to her back. Putting two and two together, Jackson realized with some pride that she was responsible for the arrow now sticking out of Mensforth.
Rushing to her side, Jackson caught her up in a fierce embrace, relieved that she had come to no harm by the looks of her. “Are you all right? You had me so worried.” Grabbing her tight into his body, he never wanted to know that feeling of anxiety and worry again where she was concerned.
Devlin loudly cleared his throat behind Jackson, and Margaret regretfully extricated herself from Jackson’s arms to give her brother a hug as well.
Before either man could pelt her with questions as to what had happened, Margaret explained, “I was forced to defend myself in his sick, twisted game of his own invention. The same kind of game that had cost the lives of innocent women. Fortunately for me, Mensforth hadn’t known of my skill for archery.” Jackson could not believe the grin of self-satisfaction plastered on her face as she admitted that last bit.
Nobley was close enough to overhear what Margaret said, and told the soldiers, indicating Mensforth, “We are placing this man under arrest to await trial for murder. As esteemed members of the peerage, Lady Margaret and His Grace both have testimonies that will ensure this man will pay for hi
s crimes.”
None too careful, one of the soldiers used his saber to cut off the arrow’s fletching, while the other single-mindedly pulled Mensforth along the remaining length of the arrow until he was free. They paid Mensforth no mind as he screamed once more out of pain during their ministrations. After binding his wound haphazardly to ensure he didn’t bleed out, Nobley and the three soldiers escorted him towards the direction of their horses, as Margaret silently watched.
With the threat of danger finally over, Jackson pulled Margaret after him to usher her back home. “Wait,” she cried, “we need to go back to the cavern.” Removing herself from Jackson’s grip, she hurried towards the cavern, impatient in her stride, not giving the three men a chance to catch up.
Frederick shrugged as if to say, ‘why not’ and followed after her. Jackson and Devlin rushed after them, not wanting her to be left alone again nor did they want to be left behind.
