Horse and rider kept ahead of the impending storm, the wind nipping restlessly at their heels, the horse flying over tree limbs that blocked his path on the road.
The horse slowed, then came to a halt. The dark rider, the Hellhound, vaulted lithely from the saddle, a silent shadow. Leaving the horse in a concealing stand of trees, he walked stealthily toward the farm house, moving closer to the disturbing mixture of crying and raucous laughter.
Torch light illuminated the small log structure that had been built into the side of a hill. From his vantage point he saw two men dressed in buckskins and feathered headbands, garish masks concealing their faces. The house had been ransacked, furniture, dishes and clothing strewn in disarray on the ground, personal mementoes flung about the yard as they pulled a weeping woman and young boy into the night. A man lay face down upon a stone wall which encircled the dwelling.
The Hellhound scanned the scene quickly, mentally taking note of a third fellow, a mounted sentry just beyond the perimeter of torch light.
Ever so quietly, he crept closer, deciding it was time for a diversion.
The diversion came a moment later on the east side of the dwelling. An unearthly puff of yellow, then a widening billow of choking, sulfurous smoke.
"Hell's fire! Do you see that --" gasped one of the outlaws. An eerie flapping of wings grew louder, then more intense, and a hundred bats or more flew down and across the yard, almost as if they were chasing the men down.
The men ran for cover, hands in the air protectively over their heads. "Let's beat it out of here. Beldar will have to see to his own raiding this night."
The two men ran toward their horses.
"Stand fast, or you'll rue the day you ran." The order was barked from the shadows and the men hesitated.
The mounted rider nudged his horse forward, narrowed eyes searching the night. Although minus the feathered headband, he too wore buckskins. As if disdaining a cumbersome mask, his face wore a concealing blackish paint.
"Beldar -- sir," stuttered one of the men, "'tis the devil's work. Why, I can smell the very sulfur of hell in the air. I fear he has come for us, I know it --"
"Be silent, you fool!" his voice cut like ice. "'Tis a mere mortal who plays with you. Now grab that boy and you there," he addressed the second man, "get her. They'll be of use to us."
He twisted in his saddle, eyes piercing the darkness. "The talk of spirits in these hills is fed by a fool's fear." He raised his voice. "Come out, Hellhound, for I know 'tis your doing. You be a mortal man, although I wager you've come from the bowels of hell." He laughed, resting a reassuring hand across his rifle. "I've a notion to send you back so Satan can torment your damned soul forevermore." His boldness encouraged the other men to stand fast, their torches high in the air as they too searched the night.
"I choose to join the game you play with helpless women and children," the whisper rasped eerily towards them, carrying a strange, disembodied element. No man was certain where it actually came from.
The sound of a whip cracked the still air, then a cry of pain. The man holding the young woman fell to his knees, hands going to his leg as he moaned in pain. Lifting his hand from the rent in his pant leg, he cried out to see a dark crimson staining his palm.
The second man, dragging along a young boy of about ten, let the boy's arm go and hurriedly stepped back to look nervously about, raising his torch in the air. He sidled closer to his horse, causing the horse to dance sideways.
Beldar laughed contemptuously, spinning his horse about as he searched the shadows. "Is there naught you can do but play childish tricks? I am not impressed."
"Perhaps you lack the intelligence to realize you are in danger --" taunted the disembodied whisper, "Indeed, you should be wary of me. I have you in my sights and you are at a disadvantage. Should I choose to do so, I could strike you down."
"Then do it, damn you!" snarled Beldar. "Show yourself, coward!" His eyes darted, noting the woman and boy now knelt beside the wounded man. From the corner of his eye he caught sight of another figure. With a grunt of satisfaction, he turned his mount, but was suddenly brought up short. Stunned as he was by a sight that disturbed him so greatly, his body began to shake as if with fever.
Mandine stood in front of the dwelling, an eerie white light swirling behind her. For the first time in his life, Beldar was afraid.
"It is impossible!"
Fingers twitching, he wheeled his horse in her direction, kicking the animal so that he reared up, then lunged forward and crow-hopped over a low stone wall.
"Son of a bitch! You are dead, you old witch -- curse you -- I know you are dead!"
She seemed to waver, then she cackled as clearly as if she were beside him.
She pointed a bony, gnarled finger at him. "There are all kinds of death," she jeered, "and when the time is right, I will rejoice in welcoming you to yours."
He lifted his rifle. When her empty black eyes were in line with the bead of his sight, he pulled the trigger. When the smoke from the shot cleared, she was still there, her mouth wide in laughter so loud it hurt his ears.
The cold sweat of fear ran down his cheeks, trickling along his back. He fired wildly again.
Her mocking laughter grew and grew, ringing in his ears, echoing around him. So unnerved was he that Beldar dropped his rifle. He looked down between his horse's legs, heard the wooden butt of the rifle as it cracked beneath the animal's restless feet.
Mouth working, he jerked back on his mount's reins.
"Let us be gone," he muttered hoarsely, not realizing his men had fled when he'd begun yelling and firing into empty air.
#
Darien watched in amazement as Beldar streaked from the yard. He stood up, carefully winding his bullwhip. He fastened it once more to the thong at his hip, then moved forward to kneel beside the unconscious man lying across the stone wall.
"Thank you, sir," declared the woman, "I am most grateful for your intervention." She wiped her cheeks, her voice still shaky with fear. "You have surely saved our lives."
He glanced quickly at her and the boy. "You are both unhurt?"
They nodded in the affirmative as he lifted the man, hefting him onto his shoulder, grunting as the dead weight shifted against his upper arm.
Pushing the door open with his boot, he carried the unconscious man into the darkened house to settle him on a cot before the fire.
The woman hurriedly grabbed a wet cloth and gently wiped her husband's brow, cleaning the dried blood from the gash he'd received to his head.
She looked up from her ministrations with tears of gratitude. "I do thank you, Sir, most sincerely." Her eyes fell on his sleeve, the gaping hole and seep of red. "Mercy! You have been wounded."
He waved away her concern. "Please minister to your husband. I will be on my way and see that the doctor from Eastkill is dispatched immediately." He paused by the door, his boots scraping the wooden threshold. "One more thing, Madam -- do you know the reason for this intrusion tonight?"
"No, Sir. I had heard of the Calico Indians, but never would I have thought they would come after us. They are said to save folks from the land agents who would steal from us. But tonight they was looking for our gold. They said we had it hid. They struck my Timmy down when he said we had none.
"'Tis not well known, but my husband's brother died not more than two weeks, leaving a wealth of fortune in hemlock and oak to my Timmy. Truth is, Timmy's been sick and hasn't been able to log the timber for the tannery. We may be rich, but any gold there is still lies in the woods."
"Be assured those men were not 'Calico Indians' but outlaw bandits come to steal whatever of value they could find."
He pulled open the door.
"Sir," the woman called, "please, how do I address you? Who can I say saved us this night?" She saw his hesitation. "Please, sir."
"My name is unimportant," he rasped.
"You are the Hellhound," she said with satisfaction, "I am sure of it. And may God conti
nue to bless you in your efforts."
Without further ado, he left the house, ignoring the burning of his arm.
The small boy ran across the room as the door swung shut. Shoving a stool under the window, he pushed the shutters wide, staring out into the night with wide eyes, anxiously searching for a last glimpse of a new-found hero.
The night was silent.
#
"I tell you -- it is the truth! I saw it with my own eyes. She was no more dead than I. 'Twas no apparition --"
"For God's sakes, be quiet, fool! Do you wish to be overheard?" The voice was like a lash, and instantly, the first speaker closed his mouth.
Coldly, the dark eyes of the second man raked over him, a contemptuous curl lifting thin lips. "I would not have believed it, Beldar, to see you like this. You act as if you've seen the ghost of your mother --"
"You may sneer, but if you had seen what we seen this night, there might a been a different tale. It was that witch Mandine, I tell you. Real flesh and blood, or what looks like it. She stood there, laughing. I shot her full in her ugly face, and it made not a difference."
The other man watched Beldar's face, reading the hysterical terror which lingered in his eyes, the clenching of fist, the fine tremor by his mouth. He felt himself tensing, then sat down, deliberately flicking open his knife and slicing an apple.
"Perhaps what you think you saw was merely a trick -- what someone wanted you to see and think." He sat forward, jabbing the knife point down into the table before him. It quivered a moment, drawing both men's eyes. "We both know the Hellhound employs tricks."
Beldar jerked his head up and wildly shook it. "I tell you, she was real as life. She spoke." He shivered, his whole body racked with it. "I cannot get over it -- her cackle -- it give me a shiver even now."
"Pull yourself together -- you are of no use to me otherwise." The other man stood, his hand reaching out lightning fast and bringing the one called Beldar close. Cruelly, he twisted the shirt at the man's neck, watching with satisfaction as Beldar's face became mottled, then purplish."Do we understand each other?"
Beldar barely managed a nod.
With a contemptuous laugh, the other man pushed him back, watching him fall to the floor and grab his throat with shaking hands.
"See that you don't forget," remarked the one who stood, idly twisting the knife between his fingers. "You know how I feel about cowards and cheats." He shoved a chair toward the man lying prostrate, a frown of concentration on his face. "Come, sit. We must devise a plan to discredit the Hellhound once and for all. He's a mere mortal, I guarantee it, but I grow weary of his interference in my business."
#
Elise tilted her head, certain she'd heard a noise outside. Perhaps it was nerves; she was certainly on edge. It was probably just the cow in the pen, or the goat tied in the small shack out back. It was a windy night. There could be any number of things blowing about.
The noise again.
Elise tensed. It wasn't the rising wind but a sound like a footstep.
She stood and wiped her palms down the sides of her jeans, a prickle of fear darting across her skin.
Elise had been trying to distract herself, keep her mind busy in an attempt to forget for a while the circumstances she found herself in. She looked at Mandine's supply of herbs and creams, of which there were plenty. It was a wasted effort, keeping her thoughts on mundane things rather than on those which wanted to torment her.
She had no gun to protect herself, even if she'd known how to use one. Her eyes fell on the iron poker she'd used a short time ago to stir the lazy fire in the grate. It was curved wickedly into a point at the end and it might be useful.
Quickly she lifted the heavy rod and walked toward the door. Its weight made it an effort to hold it upright. Without letting fear overwhelm her, Elise pulled the back door of the cottage open.
She could see nothing. Grabbing a lantern from inside, she advanced several feet into the night, quickly looking left and then right.
Suddenly, the poker was yanked from her grasp and twisted. She swung the lantern in an arc and she heard a muffled oath. The lantern shattered as it hit the ground. In total darkness, she stumbled back and pushed the door but the thin wood buckled without much effort. Frantically Elise searched the dim interior of the cottage for something to defend herself, but there was nothing. She ran across the room, intent on reaching the front door, but he was there before her like some winged creature, his bulk blocking her escape.
Breathing hard, Elise looked up. "You!" she gasped.
His voice was barely a whisper. "I knew your welcome would be less than hearty but I had to take the chance. I've come to warn you."
"You should have stayed away," Elise shot back, mouth tight as she folded her arms protectively across herself. "I don't appreciate being locked in a barn."
"Obviously you managed to get out," he said. If she could have seen his face she was sure there was a smirk.
"Hellhound, please leave."
"You must leave this cottage, especially now with Mandine gone."
Elise retreated, her throat tight with emotion, a heavy burning at the back of her lids. It was an effort, but she looked at him, met the indiscernible gleam of his eyes through the slitted mask. "You're a stranger --" Elise shook her head. "Mandine said you have helped people in this area, but I don't know you, you remain behind that mask." She turned away from him, sat in a chair by the dying fire. "Nothing is as I expected. Everything has become very complicated, and now I've lost Mandine, the one person I could trust."
"What are your plans?"
Elise laughed. "I have no plans. I had no plan," she muttered, "and that's the problem. I returned without a plan. I was so shortsighted, you know, to think only of him. I should have thought more of myself. I should have thought of Isabeau." She shook her head, staring at the barely glowing embers in the fire pit. "I've never felt so out of place and time. Not even all those years ago when I left this place and the despair so deep."
"Who is Isabeau?" he asked.
Elise turned her head quickly away. "You ask questions but tell me nothing."
"Tell me of this other place," he urged. "And the ones you left behind."
Elise moved across the room to the fire. She felt his presence, his energy, even though she could barely see his shadow."There is no reason to regale you with a story you would be hard pressed to believe," she said softly.
"Confessions made in the dark are often the easiest."
"It's late," she said firmly. "I don't know why you've come, but you're not doing me any favors by being here. I can't see your face. I want you to leave."
"It is for your safety I keep this mask in place."
Suddenly he was beside her, tall and looming. The strength of his hand snared hers. Elise stared at his throat in the small glow cast by the embers, saw the muscles working there. She bit her cheek, letting her eyes wander up the contour of his head, the blankness of his mask, frowning. There was virtually no light. . ..
She placed a hand against his chest. It was firmly muscled, unyielding. Her fingers opened, moved, tingling at the contact, then she made herself step back. It was a half-hearted effort at best and she knew it. The chair caught her behind the knees. She sat down abruptly.
He knelt beside her. Mouth compressed, Elise looked away from him, trying to ignore the sensual tension that suddenly rose between them.
"I shall leave," his whisper was gravelly. Elise clenched her fingers against the arms of the chair.
"Yes." She hated that she felt a pull of attraction winding around her like a silken cord.
It was Darien she wanted, not this faceless stranger. He represented an unknown element of danger -- was she the type of person who needed a vicarious thrill of excitement?
He moved back toward the door.
"I have your cloak." She reached for the black cloak he'd left with her. He extended his hand to take it but with a hiss of indrawn breath he dropped his hand.
<
br /> "What is it?" Elise touched his arm, her fingers came away warm and wet. "You're bleeding."
"The ball went right through. It will heal in a few days."
"You've been shot?" her voice rose. "By the feel of your shirt, you've lost quite an amount of blood. It must be bandaged."
She urged him over to the table. "Mandine has herbs to make the healing quicker." Lighting a candle, she sorted through the herb stores which were carefully labeled.
Elise came back with several dried plants. "I wish I had some antibiotic," she muttered. She ground the plants with the mortar and pestle. She'd watched Mandine mix herbs countless times, but it had been so long ago. . ..
Suddenly, Mandine's voice was in her head, instructing her as to the correct plants and mixture to use. If Elise had not known better, she would have said Mandine stood beside her.
Carefully, she used the knife he proffered to cut away the remainder of his shirt sleeve. Elise then washed the wound, deciding that he was right: the ball had passed right through the flesh. It was still a painful looking hole, red and black with the muscle tissue shredded inside.
She felt ridiculously shaky. "You'll be really lucky if you have full use of your arm again."
"It will heal." His voice was a rasp in the dark. He flexed his arm as if to show her it still worked.
"Don't!" Elise gripped his lower arm, the tough corded muscle flexing beneath her fingers. "It's bleeding again."
She knew he watched her, but she concentrated on the wound. She dabbed at it with a clean cloth, gently smeared it with a mixture of herbs and cream. Lastly, she bound the wound with strips of clean linen, hoping it wouldn't get infected.
She felt him tense as she tied the knot. Looking up, Elise found it frustrating she couldn't make out the features behind the mask. The lack of light was a hindrance.
He came to his feet. "Thank you."
She reached for a lantern beside the fire but one large hand encircled her wrist, preventing her.
"It is better if you do not."
"Better for whom?" she snapped. "You have all the answers and I'm literally in the dark." His scent teased her nostrils.
Time Travel Romance Collection Page 37
