by Holly Kelly
Beauty and the Horseman’s Head
By Holly Kelly
Published by Clean Paranormal
Other Books by Holly Kelly
Cursed by the Fountain of Youth (An Unnatural States of America Book)
Rising (book 1 in The Rising Series)
Descending (book 2 in The Rising Series)
Avenging (book 3 in The Rising Series)
Raging (book 4, in The Rising Series)
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Beauty and the Horseman’s Head
Copyright © 2017 by: Holly Kelly
ISBN-13: 978-1978492851
ISBN-10: 1978492855
Edited by: Tamara Hart Heiner
Cover Design by: Holly Kelly
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review and/or promotion.
Clean Paranormal
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Spanish Fork, Utah 84660
AuthorHollyKelly.com
Beauty and the Horseman’s Head
Chapter 1
The smell of musket powder mingled with the sound of cannon fire. Hope’s legs burned with exhaustion from the long journey. The British had arrived, bringing death and destruction. She wrung her hands in her worn skirt as she stumbled to keep up. Her clothes were so torn and threadbare they were nearly obscene. Her father promised her new cloth, but she doubted she would see it until the war’s end. For now, she’d have to hold her dress in place with her bare hands. Perhaps if she were lucky, one of the other nurses would let her have a few extra strands of thread—enough to sew up the holes.
It wasn’t that she didn’t have thread, but that thread was reserved for knitting together the wounds of the patriots. Mary thought her idea was ludicrous. But if stitching held fabric together, why not skin and flesh? The captain didn’t exactly forbid her to try, but he did have a look of disbelief on his face when she described what she wanted to do.
It would work.
She was almost positive it would.
The sound of musket fire caused her heart to leap into her throat.
“Hold back,” Mary said at her side as she stopped.
The other nurses did as they were told and scrambled behind wide trunks to block any stray musket balls. Hope hesitated a moment, wondering if they might be too close to the battle. A sharp crack accompanied a branch exploding above her. Splinters rained down on her head. Hope dove behind the nearest tree, her heart pounding as she sat with her back against the trunk.
“Hesitating will get you killed, Miss Lowhouse.”
“We need to move back,” Hope said. “We’re too close.”
“We are fine where we are,” Mary said.
Hope's heart pounded at the sounds of conflict surrounding them. She tried not to think about her father, there in the thick of battle. Each shout, each boom, each blood-curdling cry could be him.
Blinking back tears, she steeled herself. He raised her better than that. She was not brought up by a soft, maternal hand. Her mother died giving birth to her. Her father taught her to be strong, to not give into her weaker female emotions. She was as tough as any man, and real men didn't cry.
Hope jumped at the next shout. That one was close. Is the battle moving toward us? She looked over at Mary. She clenched her jaw and her fingers dug into the earth as she sat motionless.
Another shout, even closer. It was coming toward them!
Shouldn’t they be retreating away from the battle?
Mary did not move. She did not even have the sense to prepare to move. She sat as still as a stone statue.
Hope turned onto her knees.
“Miss Lowhouse, you stay put,” Mary hissed, all the while not moving.
“The battle is drawing near,” Hope said.
“That is just your imagination,” Mary answered.
“I never entertain fanciful thoughts,” Hope said, her temper rising. “They are truly moving this way.”
“You will stay in place, Miss. Lowhouse!” Mary looked at the other girls, some of whom looked ready to bolt. “You will all stay in place.”
“But they are getting closer!” another voice hissed.
“You are just panicking,” Mary said, finally moving. She slowly peered around the trunk.
A sharp crack pierced the air, and Mary stiffened. Not a moment later, she tipped over. Her open eyes stared into the sky. A red dot the size of a pine tree shilling dimpled the center of her forehead.
Screams erupted from the girls as they scrambled, racing through the clearing like a herd of frightened deer—only much slower and more erratic.
“Wait!” Hope shouted. “Keep to the trees!”
Another shot thumped into the ground nearby, and Hope decided it was her time to run. She did her best to keep behind the trunks as she moved from tree to tree.
The battle sounds faded. She’d lost sight of any of the other girls. In the distance, she spotted a fat oak tree with branches spread like a canopy. The trunk looked to be three feet wide, the perfect place to hide. She sprinted, breathing a sigh of relief when she finally reached it. A surprised face popped into view behind it, and she squeaked a cry. The barrel of a musket raised and pointed at her forehead.
He’s not wearing red. That thought calmed her heart just a bit, as much as it could while having a musket pointed at her.
“Hope?” a familiar voice said. The musket lowered.
Hope raised her eyes to a handsome face that made her stomach turn. “Eli? What are you doing out here?”
A look of guilt flashed across his features just before he composed himself. “I’m waiting in ambush, of course.”
“But our troops are between us and the red coats. Do you hope to ambush our own men?”
“Of course not. You don’t know what you're talking about. But then, you are a woman. I wouldn’t expect you to understand such things.”
“I understand plenty.” Hope raised her chin.
Eli stepped closer to her. His clothes were clean and expensive—very unlike most patriots, who were gruff and not afraid to get dirty. He seemed more like he belonged with the red coats, with their pressed jackets and fine wigs.
“What I don’t understand,” he said, “is why a proper young lady like yourself is showing so much of her womanly attributes.” He fingered the fabric at her chest.
Hope took a step back looked down in horror at her bodice. It had torn, revealing the swell of her breasts. She slapped her hand against her chest.
“Don’t cover yourself on my account,” he said, smiling as he stepped toward her again. “I truly don’t mind. It’s a nice distraction from the battle.”
“Curb your wicked thoughts, Eli.” Hope narrowed her eyes and clenched a fist. “Or I’ll curb them for you.”
He chuckled. “Feisty mares are much more enjoyable to tame.”
“You’ll never tame me.”
“Is that a challenge?” he asked, amused.
“It’s a promise.” She held his gaze, unwavering. “Now I think I should let you get back to your ambush.”
He shook his head. “I need to see to your safety first.”
“I don’t need a keeper.”
“But I in
sist.” He stepped forward and took her by the arm. His fingers cut into her.
“Ouch,” she gasped as pain shot through her. “Stop. Let go!”
“Am I hurting you?” he asked, amusement in his eyes.
“Yes, you idiot!” Hope shouted, her anger rising as fear crept into her heart.
“Sometimes pain is a good thing. It teaches one her place.”
“Where are you taking me?” She squirmed, trying to break free from his grasp.
“Somewhere we can be alone.”
“We’re already alone.”
“Somewhere we cannot be interrupted,” he said.
Hope’s chest constricted so tightly she could hardly draw a breath. She knew exactly what his wicked heart contained. Her father had warned her about men like him.
“I know just the place that will afford us privacy.” He looked down at her as he dragged her along.
“You would not dare,” she growled as she struggled.
“Oh, now, don’t sound so appalled. You are of age, and I am in need of a wife. I have already spoken to your father, and he has given his support. Who will ever know but you and I if we know each other intimately before we wed?”
“God will know. And I will tell my father.”
He scoffed. “You will give him all the details? I think not. Once I have had you, no one else will want you. And you will not say a word.”
“You are a depraved man. I would rather die than lie with you.”
“One day you will be begging for me to come to your bed. You just don’t realize how lucky you are. You will find that out in the years to come.”
They neared a thick grove of trees with an opening in the thicket.
“If you touch me,” she said, her voice shaking, “I—
“You will what?” he challenged. “Fight me? I am twice your size. It’d be like a fly trying to fight an ox.” He proved his words when he pulled her roughly forward and smashed his lips against hers, pressing his body into her.
It took all Hope's might to push him away. She smashed her knee against his groin, and Eli howled and dropped to the ground.
Hope had barely taken a breath when a flying blur blindsided her from the right, colliding with her. And then she tumbled down the hill in a tangle of limbs and bodies. An incredible weight crushed her periodically, only to have that weight tumble off her as she continued her descent down the slope. She could hear Eli shouting in the distance. She finally came to a stop at the bottom of the hill, sprawled across a bare, muscled chest.
Every part of her ached, but mostly her head. Relieved filled her. Nothing seemed broken. Raising her eyes, she searched out the face of the cause of her fall. Icy-blue eyes stared widely at her. He shook his head. She caught sight of his ears and sucked in a breath. They were pointed!
She blinked in disbelief, and when she looked again, the points were gone. His ears looked wholly human now. The fall must have addled her brain.
She gasped out, “Who are you?”
“You are human, right?” he asked as he raised up on his elbows. Hope slid down his chest and scrambled back.
“What else would I be?” she asked.
“What else, indeed.” He frowned, then looked up at the sky and shouted, “You can’t trap me here forever, Haryk!”
“Trap you?” Hope said. “How can you be trapped outside in the open? Where did you come from? Who are you?”
“You are full of questions, aren’t you?” He stood and brushed the leaves off his oddly tailored brown pants and high, black leather boots. A leather strap slung across his heavily muscled bare chest, from shoulder to adjacent hip. His nearly white blond hair hung near to his waist, pulled back with a leather tie.
Despite having hair as long as a woman’s, there was nothing feminine about him. He literally oozed masculinity. He cleared the crushed leaves away and straightened to his full height.
“Hope!” Eli’s voice rang out as he made his way down the hillside.
She stumbled back, putting the stranger between her and her would-be assailant.
The stranger narrowed his eyes as he looked from Hope to Eli.
Eli came up short, his eyes widening as they looked at the stranger. “And who might you be? A redcoat who’s lost his coat?”
“A red what?” the stranger asked.
“Red. Coat.” Eli enunciated each syllable.
“I own nothing red,” the stranger said.
“As if I would believe you.” Eli raised his musket. “Step away from my betrothed.”
“I am not your betrothed,” Hope growled. “I will never marry you. You have an evil mind and wicked intentions.”
The stranger raised an eyebrow. “Wicked intentions, huh?” His gaze lingered on her throbbing lips and then lowered to her ripped bodice.
Heat rose in her cheeks as she clasped the ripped fabric and held it together to cover herself. She looked up at the stranger’s face, surprised to see anger in his eyes.
He turned back to Eli. “I may not be the most noble of creatures. I have no qualms about seducing women. I care not who they are or what circumstances they are in. If they are easy to look on and willing, I will not hesitate. But a man who would force himself on a woman is a coward and a snake.” At those words, he waved his hand, and Eli was gone.
“Wha…?” Hope said, stunned. “Where did he go?”
“From his dress, he was obviously a soldier, and I can hear the sounds of battle in the distance. I sent him to do his job.”
“You . . . sent him? But, how?”
He smiled, his eyes twinkling as he said, “Like this.”
And then he was gone.
“I definitely hit my head too hard.” Had the stranger been there in the first place? Had she hallucinated the man? The uncertainty unnerved her.
The boom of a cannon brought her back to her senses. What was she doing standing here? She had much more important things to concern herself with. She had lives to save.
Without hesitation, she ran toward the sounds of battle.
Chapter 2
Hope’s heart sat heavy in her chest as they trudged through the rain. She hoped they would find a place to camp soon, but so far, thick forest continued on. They had no good place to pitch their tents. If only they’d won the battle, they could have stayed put and set camp.
An older man fell into step at her side. “Where on earth did you learn such methods?”
She knew exactly what he was talking about. Her sewing had gained the attention of everyone—well, everyone who yet lived. She shrugged. “I saw it back in New York. I assisted a man who had to amputate a leg. The doctor used a needle to stitch the skin together over the stump. The man’s wound healed without infection. It got me thinking, why can’t we stitch together other wounds? That way they would not remain open to allow filth to enter.”
“Ah, you’re one of those!” the man exclaimed.
“One of what?” Hope said.
“You think that dirt brings disease.”
“Not just dirt, filth. Haven’t you observed that the cleanliest of people live the longest?”
“That’s just a coincidence.”
“I don’t put much stock in coincidences. Back home, there was a woman who claimed that boiling water would kill all diseases. She would only drink and bathe in water that had been boiled and then cooled to the proper temperature.”
“That’s ludicrous.”
“She’s eighty-six years old. Do you know any other who has reached that age?”
“How much can you know? What are you, sixteen?”
Hope raised her chin. “I’m twenty.”
“What does your husband think about a wife with such independent thought?”
“I’m not yet married.”
“What?” the man gasped.
“My father has allowed me to decide whom I will marry. I’ve not found a man worthy of me, as yet.”
“Now I see where you get it. Your father is a strange one—allowing his d
aughter so much freedom. It’s one thing to allow you a say, it’s another to allow you to remain unmarried at such an ungodly age.”
“We are fighting for freedom, are we not?”
“Freedom from British rule, not common sense,” he said.
“My father knows I will be the one who has to live with the consequences should I choose a less-than-worthy husband. I’d say it shows his confidence and trust in my judgment. “She looked up. The troops spread out as they entered a clearing. “Finally!” she couldn’t help exclaiming.
“Good luck on finding a husband,” he said as he stepped away. “You’ll need it.”
Hope joined the other women as they set up their tents. As always, they avoided talking to her. She had tried to solicit friendship, but she had a difficult time relating to them. They were much younger than her, and they seemed to only want to discuss who was the most handsome, unattached soldier. Then they would spend the remainder of their conversations complaining about how the war had disrupted their lives.
Hope found the war not an inconvenience, but a noble cause. Her work nursing injured soldiers gave her a sense of purpose and a satisfaction she did not get from the mindless frivolities the other girls missed so much.
“Miss Lowhouse?” a deep voice petitioned from behind.
Hope turned to find a young soldier with sympathy in his eyes. Her stomach dropped. Devastating news always followed this familiar expression. “Yes?”
“Your father wishes to see you.”
“My father?” Hope said, as her mind raced over his condition when she last spoke to him hours before. He had looked well for someone who had just been through a major battle. He had favored his right side just a bit but claimed he was fine.
Hope raced, stumbling on occasion, through the camp as she followed the young man. Her father’s tent came into view. A crowd surrounded the opening. She worried so intensely, she pushed her way through, forgetting all politeness.
What she saw when she got inside made her heart faint. Her father lay on his bedroll his face white, a sheen of sweat on his brow. He looked to be on death’s door.
