by Daria Vernon
This morning she’d surprised them all. Find another society lady who would openly declare the state of her virtue to four men at once, and Beth would show you a unicorn. What could Beth care about her boldness when half of the shire knew the breadth of her improprieties from a network of whispers that never died? None of it mattered.
And none of it was regretted.
The boy she’d spoken of was Dyckson. The Sumner’s middle son, he lived less than half a mile from Greenthorne. They’d been tutored alongside one another from the age of six. Being out in the country, they’d had few opportunities for other friendships to form, and so they were joined at the hip.
A decade of beautiful friendship passed.
Beth closed her eyes to better remember his face—the sandy hair that curled whenever it got longer than his ears, a nose that was always golden from the sun. He was a few months older than her and constantly emboldened by it. In his confident way, he’d dragged her into almost every childhood misadventure she’d ever had, whether it was nearly drowning in the pond or stepping on a snake that he’d brought to their most recent fortress.
Beth smiled. When she’d last climbed a tree prior to her present crisis, it had most certainly been with him.
He was her accomplice in almost everything fun that ever happened at Greenthorne, just as Dahlia had been at Ashecote.
Then one day, when Beth was sixteen, she fell off her horse when they were riding together. The bump to her head was bad enough that she was told she couldn’t be roused for more than a minute. When she opened her eyes, Dyckson was right over her, shaking her gently, begging her to wake. She would never forget how his young eyes swam with terror.
Her instinct upon waking was to comfort him, and she did, and they’d held one another, there in the grass, for a long time. As they walked their horses back to Greenthorne that evening, something felt different.
The particulars of the day that it finally happened were now partly obscured by time, but Beth could recall how they both stood holding hands over the blanket they’d brought to an overgrown area. She could still picture his boyish face over hers, eyes twinkling from the nearby lantern. Every feeling of being there on that blanket was amplified by their daringness to sneak out at night.
It must have started awkwardly, but she could only remember their deep, indulgent kissing and the slow and novel pleasures of undressing one another, of seeing one another. The feeling of a summer night’s air on her breasts was the most singular thing. Something experienced far too rarely.
Completely unforgotten was the moment that her eyes slid down to fix her gaze on a young man’s anatomy for the first time. She’d found it very different from all the statues she’d seen. Yet her mind got over this fascination quickly, and in the next moment, his nakedness seemed as natural as the night sky.
Beth’s breath caught in her throat, reliving the very instant when she pulled him down to her. There was no one in the world she’d ever trusted more. She opened herself up to him completely, and her faith in him delivered on every promise.
As they locked themselves together that night, it would be the first of many intimate embraces scattered across the next year and a half.
Even before they were caught, she was aware it could not go on forever. He was destined to have a living in Scotland, and a young lady up there had been vaguely promised to him. Beth was at peace with the fact. It was instead her greatest fear that such antics might somehow degrade their original friendship. But away from their blankets in the grass, their friendship remained as it had been—warm and adventurous and confidential.
And then one day, a gossip-loving goatherd saw them leaving a shed together on the Sumner’s land. He wasn’t a particularly reliable witness, but as it is with families—particularly those with daughters—there was a strong reaction.
For the next several months, that seed of salaciousness grew into the tree that would uproot her pleasant life. It was amazing to watch how her father’s family and friends could talk so abundantly around it without saying it at all.
Her father, for his part, gave a lecture on how grave it would be were she to end up with child. But not knowing any better, Beth had already been just as reckless as he was warning about—and so many times too. It seemed clear to her that her body was not cooperative with such a state.
Dyckson went largely untarnished by the affair. His only punishment was to be sent to settle in Scotland earlier than planned. To curb his adventurous appetites beyond that would have been a crime against his manhood, or so they’d said. His awkward, naked-chinned, not-yet-of-eighteen years, manhood. And just like that, her best friend was gone.
Beth had never forgotten Dyckson. Not his adventure, not his safety, not his dark young eyes that sparkled with curiosity—eyes that were not unlike those of Rhys.
Her reveries came to a cliff, and she was alone with the sounds of her horse’s steps, plodding on the soft earth.
Even that steady sound began to fade. Her eyes blinked slow and heavy. The sun suddenly seemed so low.
She drifted, then straightened. Then drifted again.
But a sound brought her upright with a start—
AAAaaarooOOOOooooo
Chapter 11
The lamenting chorus of howls was near enough to raise the hairs on Beth’s arms. But in a forest full of echoes, it seemed they might be anywhere.
This wasn’t what it sounded like when the hunting hounds outside of Greenthorne bayed. It was like no sound heard in the whole of England. Instead, it called to mind the sort of sounds she’d read about in fairytales from the Continent.
Rhys’ horse chewed on the bit and huffed. Beth eyed her surroundings—attention jerking sharply toward any little sound. A bristling in the dead undergrowth. Plops of snowmelt striking the mud . . .
She’d urged the horse forward when another echo stopped her. Again, she waited—her heart balanced on a pin.
The howls went up again and then faded. Blessedly, faded. Beth released a breath she’d long been holding and nudged the gelding back into step.
Her relief splintered as a nightmarish blur emerged at her right—already surging upward—already—
Beth landed in the mud with a sickening slap as her horse kicked and reared above her. Scrambling to her feet, she found Rhys’ knife at her breast and readied it in front of her. Another shadow passed low in her periphery. Too quick to catch a sight—
WHOOSH
A long, dark-bodied thing cut through the air and slammed into the horse’s neck. The horse reared again, nearly falling on top of Beth before gaining purchase on the slick ground and running away. The beast gave chase to the chestnut, as did another shape that emerged from nowhere. Beth could not believe what she was seeing.
Wolves. Unheard of.
The vicious pounding of her heart threatened her efforts to keep still. Surely the horse would lure the wolves far away. But her body did not yet yield to such hopeful thoughts, and the knife in her hand ticked upward with every shaking breath.
There. A faint rustle behind her.
Beth thought—hoped—she had only imagined it, but she knew her luck better than that. She turned.
Another wolf—a sickly, starved-looking thing—stood not a handful of paces away and growled lowly.
Beth’s knuckles whitened on the knife’s handle as she brought it in front of her.
Anticipating the lunge, she was able to dodge it, but she wasn’t so quick the second time and was brought down. The predator twisted back around to her with that quickness that only wild animals possess. It fastened its glistening teeth into her skirt and tore viciously. Fruitlessly. Then its citrine eyes locked into hers, realizing where the real meal was. The creature’s mouth fell open, and it lowered itself.
Beth raised the knife.
The wolf sprung for her neck, and her eyes were wide open as the
horribly stretched jaws—lined with death—flew toward her. But her knife was there, waiting, and she thrust it upward to meet the beast.
The animal collapsed against her, heavy as a man. Its body slid down the blade to meet her hand. Warm rivulets traced paths down her wrist. The creature suddenly awoke to its own pain and its hind legs scraped at her mercilessly as it writhed. Its jaws snapped open and closed aimlessly beside her face, extracting screams from her that were as much an expulsion of fear as they were a battle cry.
Her blade had struck just to the inside of the wolf’s powerful shoulder and would not loosen itself. Beth fought to extract it, to get herself away from the wolf in its dangerous throes of agony. At last, the flesh relented to her possession of the knife, and she scrambled out from beneath the unfortunate thing.
Standing up, she watched it struggle to do the same. Pathetic as the poor creature seemed now, she wouldn’t dare turn her back on it. It steadied itself, but its gemstone eyes no longer contained the focus of a hunter. It was not keen on more trouble.
For one blessed moment of insanity, Beth felt triumphant. She craned her neck to thank the darkening sky.
But then came the yips and yelps behind her—the disturbance of the leaves—as the wolf’s two kin returned.
The knife faltered in her hand, slippery with blood. She tightened her grip until her nails dug into the flesh of her palm.
The wolves circled around her to join their injured brother.
Her knife hand suddenly steadied.
She’d die here.
“I’m sorry, Papa.” The whisper was almost too soft to reach her own ears.
The bleeding wolf growled again, as though to signal his mates that it was time.
She couldn’t say which one lunged first, only that a pair of jaws narrowly missed her as she swung her knife hand. The weight of the beast knocked the knife’s edge back into her own ribs, nicking against her stays. Rhys’ cloak was grabbed by the other wild dog, and one yank of it brought her back to the cold ground. She struck out wildly with her heel, connecting with nothing but air.
CRACK
The wolves went still.
The echo of a gunshot was still clapping through the air as Beth pushed herself up. The ground rumbled beneath her fingers. The steady rhythm of a gallop.
The wolves split to either side as a horse barreled into the small clearing.
The yips of the small pack were as sharp as screams, but they were no longer near her. The figure on the horse wielded a blazing torch and swung it down again and again at the frantic, bloodthirsty pair. Briefly, they would break away in a panic, only to return to their harassment of the horseman. But he harassed them back.
At last, with enough rearing and trampling and swings of the torch, the two wolves were dispersed.
Beth stood up, frozen. Sick with how fiercely her blood was pumping. She couldn’t cry out to him in her relief. Couldn’t yet acknowledge the man that she knew had saved her.
Rhys dismounted, stabbed his torch into the mud and stared at Beth as the forest settled. One last wolf, so still as to go unnoticed by him, collapsed suddenly—dead between them. A casualty that was no doubt the result of the blood he saw dripping over the knife in her hand. His knife.
In the whole of his life, he’d never seen such a sight and he felt oddly blessed to bear witness—not just to see her safe, but—all of it.
Her.
Panting in a gloomy little clearing, in the dwindling light. Long hair clinging to the sweat of her face and tangling down past her breast. Like some medieval witch, with blood dripping off her. An artist of survival that amazed him at every turn. A woman unlike any—
“I am as a magnet to peril.”
“If that’s so, you bear your calling very admirably.” He gestured to the expired wolf.
Finally, he crossed the gulf between them. He hadn’t realized he’d opened his arms wide for her until she collapsed into them, letting the knife fall from her limp hand.
She spoke into his chest. “You’re alive.”
“I’m alive?” He pushed her to arm’s length to check her for injuries.
“Yes, I heard a shot.”
He’d already forgotten. Of course she hadn’t seen how that played out. He pushed a long tendril of hair from her face, as he’d always found himself wishing to do. “I’m fine, Beth.”
“And Harry?”
Rhys smiled for how fond they both were of Harry. “Also fine.”
“Your horse is gone.”
“I know. It came dashing past me. That’s how I knew where to find you. There was no time to catch it.”
Beth leaned into him. Her muscles seemed to go softer and softer, unhinging themselves after battle. He wanted this warrior to sleep against his chest for days. He wanted them to each take off their armor and be soft together.
Pushing one lock of hair from her eyes had been a temptation so great that he now found himself stroking every wayward strand from that divine face. And even when her eyes were clear of it, he caressed her hair still.
“Let me help you,” he said, softly as he could.
She drew back, and he ached at feeling her step away.
She picked up the knife, wiped it with her skirts, and tucked it in at her breast.
“Tell me, was I very far off from a village?”
“You weren’t, at least not as the crow flies, but the terrain is very poor on your chosen route.”
She nodded, her eyes examining the trees.
“I think you would have made it this time.”
She broke from her contemplation and smiled tiredly. “Do you?”
“Well, if not for the wolves, maybe, but even there you surprise me.” He looked again at the carcass. “I don’t think your gallantry was misplaced at all this time. You had a very real shot and you took it. Let me pay you my respects by helping you get home.”
“I’ve not forgotten, Rhys, that you have obligations and debts. You still need what I have.”
He sighed and leaned against Lionel’s horse, gathering his thoughts. “My debts aren’t from gambling or loans, Beth. They’re of a guilty nature. I owe somebody because I hurt them. And now I’ve hurt you, and I owe a debt there too.”
“You told me that you hadn’t learned where Greenthorne was. Was that a lie?”
“Yes.”
“Why were you in the woods with Harry? Was Lionel right? Were you going to betray the others and ransom me? Is that why you wanted me to stay quiet the night before? So that they wouldn’t hear the price—”
“No!”
“Then why were you in the woods? Where were you when they attacked me? I needed you.” Her voice faltered. The sound of it nearly killed him “The one thing you promised was—”
“That I’d keep you safe from them. I know. Believe me I know. I’m so sorry.”
She wore a strange expression. Her eyes were searching for something that couldn’t be seen. “Last night, you—did you . . .” But she shook off whatever she was thinking and left her question hanging in the air, incomplete.
He stepped toward her again, and she didn’t move away. Gently, he took her shoulders and turned her a few degrees.
“Look,” he said. “That’s southwest. It’ll take an hour and a half back to the road. That road will loop you around east to the village of Cobton Dale. You can take this horse and there should be a compass in Lionel’s pack. You can have the torch.” He turned her around to him. His cape was twisted around her from her melee with the wolves. He set it to rights and brushed off her shoulders. “And this. You should keep it. As it looks so very good on you.”
Another weak smile played on her lips as she pulled the cloak more tightly around her.
He stepped back. “You have everything you need, particularly courage, to make it to that small town where good peopl
e can help you home. But—”
All the words he’d said felt right, yet still, he could not bear the uncertainty of it. He trusted her. Trusted the sheer force of her impressive will, yet he hoped—
“Please help me,” she said. “I don’t want to be alone out here again.”
He took her in his arms, and her whole body quivered.
“Then I have a different proposal.”
“Which is?”
“Your home is off of a different road. With two of us on a horse, it’s half a day away. I suggest we rest where we are and go in the morning.”
She unburied her face from his chest to look up at him, her brown eyes round with alarm.
“But we have no shelter. We’ll be frozen.” This tinge of panic seemed so uncommon to her.
“We won’t, I promise. We’ll find a good spot, and I’ll make us a fire.” She said no more but still looked up at him with unique worry pulling at her brow. “Truly,” he said, and she sank back into him.
“Do you have enough left in you that you can help make a camp before we lose the last of our light?”
Beth nodded and smiled gamely through her exhaustion. This woman, who had just killed a wolf.
Beth stepped back to admire their work. Apparently, all the men’s horses carried some effects necessary for encampment. Rhys complained about the inferiority of Lionel’s supplies, but Beth thought them fortunate to have at least one waxed piece of canvas to work with.
They’d settled on a low rocky overhang as their shelter, and Rhys had made a fire right in front of it. The tarpaulin was stretched across one side to block sharp winds from getting sucked over their bodies as they slept.
As they worked, he filled her in on what had happened back at the folly.
Poor Solomon. She had no love for the man, of course, but loathed that any bloodshed had come of this affair. She even felt for the wolf, a beast thought to be extinct on the isle for a century. She was certain it was the only creature larger than a spider that she’d ever extinguished.
