Beauty and the Horseman's Head (Unnatural States of America Book 2)

by Holly Kelly

  I sing the wisdom that ordained

  the sun to rule the day;

  The moon shines full at God’s command,

  and all the stars obey.

  There’s not a plant or flower below,

  but makes Thy glories known,

  And clouds arise, and tempests blow,

  by order from Thy throne;

  While all that borrows life from Thee

  is ever in Thy care;

  And everywhere that man can be,

  Thou, God art present there.

  The darkness deepened and the shadows stretched across the road as the hymn faded from her thoughts. What was she doing out here? Why would anyone in her right mind wander a road that was said to be haunted? Hope brushed away the thoughts and continued to walk. Her left foot began to throb. She’d probably have a good-sized blister on her heel when this was all over.

  A warm breeze blew against her back as the scent of old musky mildew washed over her. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Hope froze. She could feel something standing at her back. With her eyes wide, she slowly turned around. Her breath stole away, and she stumbled back.

  The flaring nostrils of a monstrous horse with glowing red eyes blew her hood off her head as a scream gathered in her throat. She really did not want to look. Why did she feel compelled to look?

  Her eyes rose to its rider. His shoulders were as broad as the side of a barn, and he clutched an axe in his gloved hand. But his head . . .

  She knew what she’d been looking for, but seeing it in the flesh—a monstrous figure on horseback with no head—there was no way to contain her reaction.

  Her scream pierced the night air and sent the birds to flight. She screamed long and loud until she had no air left. And then her scream turned to whimpered sobs. She could hear Conall in the background, shouting at her. But she could not possibly listen to what he had to say while the headless horseman had his axe raised above her head.

  To her relief, the monster did not swing immediately. He sat, his chest heaving as he regarded her. Seconds later, he dismounted. Hope stumbled back. Even without his head, he seemed larger than life. He moved quickly, grabbing her by the cloak. Hope struggled in his grip. The clasp of her cape broke free, and she turned and ran. A heartbeat later, he snagged her around the waist and turned her around. He drove forward and pressed her against the trunk of a tree.

  Now she was too terrified to scream. He moved in closer, and she squeezed her eyes shut. She could feel him leaning over her. The familiar scent of pine and honeysuckle filled her nostrils.

  Conall! He smelled just like Conall. Her heart calmed as her mind told her Conall would never hurt her. But this wasn’t truly Conall. Conall was just a head and he was . . .

  Where was he? Had she dropped him?

  Her thoughts were derailed when she felt the horseman’s hands caress the sides of her head. He’s not a monster, this is Conall. This is Conall . . . this is Conall . . .

  Both hands traced her face and then brushed over her hair, lingering on her curls as he gently tugged them. She continued to try her best to convince herself that this hulking figure was Conall. The scent coming off him was the most compelling evidence. And she could feel his powerful presence. He felt like Conall. His hands continued their downward journey over her body.

  All Hope could do was focus on Conall’s scent. She kept Conall’s face in her mind as his hands continued their inspection of her. Hope had once met a blind man, and he had used similar techniques to “see” her face. Only Conall’s hands did not seem to know what was appropriate for to touch and what wasn’t. It seemed he wanted to “see” all of her. It was only mildly comforting that he did not linger on her breasts, but only brushed over them briefly. Still, her heart jumped at his touch. She was almost sorry when he broke the contact and stepped back.

  Hope was appalled when she realized she had actually begun to enjoy his touch. What was she thinking? She had felt something akin to lust. No. She could not possibly have! Good, Christian women didn't lust—especially not after a headless monster who had murdered who knew how many people!

  But to her eternal shame, she had enjoyed the contact—even if it were for a moment.

  The only explanation she could come up with was that since he smelled like Conall, she had imagined it was Conall touching her. She’d simply had a momentary lapse in judgment. It had to be her mind’s way of coping with something horrific by putting her into a less threatening place.

  But lust? Why lust? Shame built up in her at the appalling emotion she’d felt. There would be hours spent repenting of this. Not to mention, she should confess this to the priest. But then, if she did that, he undoubtedly would have her burned at the stake.

  Hope could hear the horseman moving away from her. She finally ventured a peek at him. The headless horseman leaned down and took the axe he’d dropped. He mounted his horse. It turned its glowing red eyes at her, as if regarding her curiously. She breathed a sigh of relief when it turned back to the road, took off in a gallop, and disappeared with its rider around the bend.

  Why had he left her? It was said he was searching for a head.

  He was searching for a man’s head! His rude inspection of her was his way of confirming that she was a woman. And when he’d received the confirmation that she indeed was female, he’d left her alone.

  But she wasn’t alone. Her heart took off in a sprint. Where was Conall?

  “Conall,” Hope whispered harshly. “Conall! Where are you?”

  He did not answer her. Oh, please let him be alright. Her heart rate spiked when the thought occurred to her that he might have been trampled by the horse’s hooves. She’d failed him. How could she live with herself if something happened to him?

  Hope stumbled over something lying on the ground. It felt like fabric. It was her cloak! It lay where she’d lost it. She lifted it up, and there he was. His eyes were closed. He wasn’t moving. Not even a twitch, and there was only a hint of a glow. He looked . . . dead.

  Hope brushed his hair away from his eyes and her fingers came away wet.

  Her heart stopped. It was blood. He had been injured.

  Chapter 13

  “Conall. Oh please, speak to me.”

  He did not respond. She could not even tell if he were breathing. She lay him on her bed and felt at his neck to see if she could feel his pulse. There was something. Very faint, though. Hope choked back a sob when she realized she could not be sure she’d felt a it.

  She stoked the fire and lit the cabin with a warm glow. Hope could see Conall clearly. He looked deathly pale. She found the wound he’d sustained. There was a three-inch gash on the side of his head and she could see a depression. His skull was fractured. “Oh, Conall. I am so sorry! How could I have . . .” She could not finish her words. They were too disgraceful. She had been enjoying the horseman’s touch as he lay bleeding, injured, and possibly dying on the ground. The horseman wasn’t the real monster. She was.

  Hope boiled some water and let it cool enough to use it to wash his wound. Then she applied witch hazel and stitched it closed. She looked him over as tears filled her eyes. That was all she could do.

  When she reached to pick him up and held him against her chest, she felt how truly cold he was. She began to sob. “Oh, what have I done?” Hope cried as she rocked him gently. Her heart was literally breaking. When had her feelings for him grown so strong?

  He was rude, he was crude, and he drove her to the point of madness, but she cared for him regardless. And she was the reason he may not survive the night. That thoughtand the accompanying guilt was a crushing weight on her heart.She lay in her bed and covered them both in her blanket. She kept him cradled in her arms all night long. She slept very little and cried very much. When morning came, she wrapped him in her softest blanket and took him to school with her. Forgetting her fears, she put him in his own bag so that her books and lunch would not disturb him. She wished she could continue to hold him, but tha
t would be a disaster. Someone would insist on seeing what she was holding. If he were found, there was no telling what would happen to him. So instead, she placed him carefully in the hollow of the podium below her.

  She worried so much throughout the day that it made her sick. It felt as if someone had blown a hole in her chest with a cannon, and her stomach could not abide the thought of food. After three days of this, she had grown so weak, she had to sit while she taught. Even then, she felt as if she might pass out.

  Conall remained as still as death. She hoped beyond hope that he was still alive. He’d saved her. She owed him her life. And she would gladly trade it if it would save him.

  A plan began to form in her mind. If Conall did not return to her, she would commit every waking moment to finding the witch and bringing her to the authorities—even if it meant her own death. It was the least she could do to make restitution. Hope lay down in bed with Conall cradled against her chest and, for the fourth night in a row, once again cried until the wee hours of the morning.

  * * * * *

  Conall awoke with a pounding in his head and something soft and warm pressed into his face. He blinked his eyes open and found himself under the cover of a blanket with his face pressed into two lush breasts—a thin nightgown was the only thing separating them from him. The smell of Hope’s lavender soap, mixed with her own unique scent, surrounded him. He’d think himself in heaven if he weren’t in so much pain.

  “Hope?” he mumbled against her soft skin.

  “Conall?” she cried out as the blanket was ripped away. Hope’s tear-streaked face came into view. Her eyes were red and swollen. It looked like she’d been crying—and not just a few tears. And then she broke into sobs, confirming his assessment of her condition. “I thought I had lost you.”

  She pulled him tight under her chin and then she loosened her arms. “Oh, I am sorry. I need to be gentler.”

  “What happened?” he asked. The last thing he remembered was Hope’s scream. It had been horrifying, hearing her shriek like that and not being able to do a thing to help her. He’d used his power to shield her from view, but it did not seem to work on the horseman—probably because he did not have eyes to begin with. And then what happened?

  Oh, right, she’d dropped him.

  “It was the horseman’s steed,” she said. “He trampled you. He left a gash in your head and broke your skull. I wasn’t sure if you had survived. I could not tell if you were breathing, and your pulse was so weak, I didn't know if I were really feeling it or just wanted to. I thought you might be . . . dead.”

  “Still, you took care of me?”

  Hope nodded. “Of course, I did. I could not give up on you that easily.”

  “And what happened between you and the horseman?”

  Conall’s eyes narrowed when a crimson color gathered in Hope’s pale cheeks. She turned away from him.

  “Did he do anything inappropriate to you?” he asked. “So help me, if he did, I . . .” his words dropped off when he realized he could not do a thing. He’d rip apart anyone who put a hand on Hope, but in this case, he’d be destroying his own body. Besides, he had no way to retaliate.

  “No,” Hope said. “It’s not that. I… well, it’s my burden to bear.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Conall said.

  Hope shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it. Besides, I am in need of a bath.”

  “I don’t think you should be alone,” Conall said, pressing his brows together. “I could use a bath myself. We should take one together.” He smirked, attempting to liven up the mood. Hope’s reaction caught him off-guard.

  “What kind of woman do you take me for?” she snapped without a hint of humor. “I don’t go lusting after every man I see.”

  “Where did that come from?” he said, appalled. “I said nothing about lust. I was simply teasing you, Hope. I knew you would not really take me up on the offer.”

  “Oh, I…” she began, as tears once again filled her eyes. “I am sorry.” Her voice broke on the word “sorry.” “I am really not usually this emotional. It’s just . . . it’s just been hard.”

  Something was seriously wrong with her. If only he could read this woman’s mind. She could be so confusing sometimes. She gathered her clothes and stumbled out the door. He was left alone to puzzle about her behavior.

  Minutes later she returned, completely clothed and her hair up tight in a bun. With her hair pulled away from her face, he could see dark circles under her eyes. Her cheeks were sunken in, and it looked like she hadn’t eaten or slept in days. Perhaps she hadn’t. That would explain her erratic behavior.

  “We need to leave in just a few minutes,” she said. “I cannot be late for class.”

  “You are not seriously going to teach school in your condition, are you?”

  “Of course I am,” she said. “I cannot afford to lose this job. Food doesn’t grow on trees, you know.” She gathered some cheese and bread from the cupboards and stuffed them into her bag.

  “Um,” Conall said. “Yes, it does.” He would have laughed at her blunder if he wasn’t so worried about her.

  Hope waved him away. “You know what I mean.”

  “No,” he said. “I don’t, actually.”

  She turned on him. “If I lose this job, I will starve and be rendered homeless.”

  “Do you really think Rebekah would evict you and let you starve to death?”

  “How do you know about Rebekah?”

  “You’ve talked about her.”

  “I have never told you about her,” Hope said.

  “Not directly.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You have a habit of talking to yourself. You’ve mentioned Rebekah on several occasions.”

  “You are exaggerating.”

  “If I am, then how did I know her name?”

  Hope shook her head. “Stop trying to confuse me.” She picked him up and stuffed him into a bag with soft blankets to cushion his head. This was much better than traveling with his head pressed into the spine of a book.

  “You are giving me my own bag?” he asked.

  “You are injured.”

  “But—”

  “Would you please stop arguing with me?” she shouted.

  Conall snapped his mouth shut. There was no reasoning with her in this state. Still, there was one thing he had to know. “I have to ask, how many days will I have to endure before you get a proper night’s sleep?”

  “Today’s Friday,” she answered, “and I intend to retire early and sleep the day away tomorrow, if you really must know.”

  “That is the first reasonable thing you’ve said this morning.”

  Chapter 14

  Hope awoke with a start. Her heart pounded when a voice mumbled from under the covers.

  “Are you going to answer that?”

  It was Conall. She must have fallen asleep with him in her arms again.

  “Answer what?” she asked. Knock, knock, knock.

  “Oh, my heavens,” she gasped. “Who could that be?”

  “Hope?” Rebekah’s voice called out.

  “It’s Rebekah!” Hope whispered harshly. She sat up with Conall wrapped in her arms and pressed against her chest.

  “Might I suggest you hide me in a box before she begins to worry and comes in?” Conall said.

  “Oh, right,” Hope said. She placed Conall in his box. She paused a moment to look him over and sighed in relief at the color he’d gained. He actually looked quite well. Knock, knock, knock.

  She quickly draped Conall with cloth and pushed the box next to the wall. She put on her robe as she rushed to the door and opened it.

  Rebekah’s eyes went wide when she saw Hope. “Were you still sleeping? It’s well past noon.”

  Hope nodded. “I have had a very trying week.”

  “Oh, really? What happened?”

  Why did she have to ask?

  Hope opened the door wide a
nd stepped back, allowing Rebekah to enter. “I don’t want to burden you with my troubles.”

  “Oh, nonsense,” Rebekah took off her bonnet and sat down at Hope’s meager table. “Is it the mayor? I heard he was giving you a hard time. So help me, I have about had my fill of the man! I may just have to remind him who built the city hall building.”

  “Did your husband build it?”

  Rebekah shook her head. “My father did. I got the deed when my parents died.”

  “I am guessing your husband now holds it.”

  Rebekah had a twinkle in her eye when she said, “Yes, he does. When my husband and I wed, he gained titles to half the town’s holdings—not that he needed them. His own wealth dwarfed my own. But, the loving soul he is, he let me choose where we live.”

  “And you chose Tarrytown?”

  Rebekah shrugged. “I grew up here.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking, how old were you when you married?” Hope asked.

  “I had just turned thirty.”

  Hope held back a gasp. “Did you worry you would never wed?”

  “I was too busy caring for my parents’ holdings to give it much thought. Victor was the first man who actually made me stop and think what it would be like to have a husband. He pursued me for over a year before I gave him my heart and married him. And I haven’t regretted a moment of it since.”

  Rebekah stretched and pressed on her rounded stomach.

  “How much longer before your baby comes?” Hope asked.

  “She’s due in two weeks’ time, but I would not be surprised if she came early.”

  “She?”

  “I am just giving my husband a chance to get used to the idea. He has his heart set on a son, but I know he’d love a daughter just as much. Though he claims he would not have any idea what to do with a girl. I told him girls are easy. They simply require hugs, kisses, and pretty clothes.”

  Hope smiled. “You are so right.”

  “Now.” Rebekah straightened her shoulders. “I came here to invite you to dinner tonight. My husband’s sister and her spouse are coming also.”