Heart of Thorns

by Nicolette Andrews

  Silence hung heavy on the air.

  "Hello?" she called. The carriage door was open--someone had left her. Her companion had told her to wait. Outside, fog was swirling, obscuring her vision beyond a few feet.

  Something sniffed around the door. She caught only the barest glimpse of coarse brown hair and a hunched figure as it raced through the mist just outside her door. Catherine scooted along the seat towards the door.

  "Is anyone there?"

  A moan echoed from within the mist. Catherine stood hunched over in the door to the carriage, squinting into the darkness, one ear cocked for the howling creature. The sensible thing to do would be to close the door and wait for rescue, but she feared for her companion more than her own safety.

  The coach rocked and Catherine fumbled, losing her balance. She grasped the doorway for support and found it wet. She pulled her hand away and a thick dark liquid covered it. As if she had summoned it, the mist parted and a gibbous moon shone down on her hand, illuminating the red blood. Catherine screamed and fell backwards onto the floor of the carriage. She stared at the blood on her hand. Why is there blood? Oh, God please tell me this is a nightmare.

  "Catherine!" Edward shook her as she thrashed about on the ground. "Mrs. Morgan, call Dr. Rowan. I think she is having some kind of fit."

  Catherine arched her back and screamed. The sound grated against the walls. The servants rushed into the hallway, their footsteps clattering on the parquet in their rush. She stopped screaming and fell limp into her husband's arms.

  He was coaxing her, asking her to speak. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked first to her hands to see they were clean of blood. It was just a dream; it wasn't real.

  "Catherine, speak to me." Edward's voice was tight with worry.

  Catherine tried to sit up, but he would not let her. He pushed her down gently, laying her head in his lap. He brushed his fingertips against her temple in a soothing gesture.

  "I am fine, Edward. It is nothing to worry about," she said in a shaking voice that gave no confidence to her words.

  "What happened?" he asked.

  The servants were gathered around in a half circle. The white and black of their uniforms made them look pale and ghostly. Catherine thought once more of Miss Smith's ghost and shuddered.

  "I thought..." She took a rattling breath. "It was nothing, just my overactive imagination."

  Edward shook his head, concern painted clearly on his face. "You cannot expect me to believe that was a product of your overactive imagination," he said firmly but not unkindly.

  Catherine would not meet his gaze. She stared instead at her own hands folded in her lap. Edward waited for her to answer.

  When an explanation did not come, he sighed. "We will talk of this later. For now I think you should wait for Dr. Rowan to examine you."

  She shook her head. "No, that won't be necessary. I am perfectly sound." Under normal circumstances she would not have held her ground, but she did not want her husband to question her about her illness. It's better he does not know or he will set me aside for Miss Ashton. "It will help if I can get a bit of exercise. Direct me to the Smiths', and I will walk there and deliver the basket."

  "I think you should rest, your health--"

  "Is fine," Catherine said, meeting him in the eye for the first time. He searched her face for a moment and nodded.

  "At least take the carriage."

  Catherine thought of the blood on her hands and shook her head again. "No. I would rather walk."

  He raked his hands through his sandy hair. "Will you at least bring Mrs. Larson? I do not like the idea of you going so far alone." He left out the 'in your condition', but his meaning was clear.

  Miss Larson was among the gawkers, and she took a step forward. Catherine looked her up and down and considered declining the offer. She could see from the set of Edward's jaw he would brook no further argument. The energy deflated out of her and she gave a weak nod of consent. Edward helped her to her feet. Though she was shaky at first, she regained her confidence and gave him what she intended to be an assuring smile.

  Miss Larson helped Catherine into her coat and bonnet, and Mrs. Morgan returned with the goodwill basket for the Smiths. She motioned to hand it to Miss Larson, but Catherine insisted on carrying it. The two women headed out. Miss Larson walked a few paces behind her. Catherine was too tired to protest. It was another gray day. The air was moist and thick. The fog was thinner but still clung to the streets and trees like an opaque shawl. They were approaching the village when Catherine spotted someone coming towards them from the opposite direction. He had white hair and leaned heavily on a cane. She plastered a smile on her face upon recognizing her husband's friend Col. Hawthorn.

  She stopped to greet him. "Col. Hawthorn, good afternoon."

  "Lady Thornton, why are you walking with such a heavy load?" the colonel said bluntly.

  She would have been surprised by his direct manner if she had not met him previously. From what she had seen at the dinner party, she concluded this was his way. He was an intimidating man, but she suspected his bark was greater than his bite.

  "I am going to visit the Smiths. They have recently lost their daughter and I'm bringing them a few things. Their daughter had applied to work at Thornwood Abbey."

  He scratched his chin as his bushy eyebrows pulled together. "I am not familiar with the Smiths. I thought Lord Thornton sent a girl from his aunt's house in London."

  "Perhaps you are mistaken, Lord Thornton was clear the girl had family in the area. Their daughter was to be in service; perhaps you have not had the pleasure of their acquaintance?"

  Miss Larson cleared her throat, and Catherine realized she must have insulted her inadvertently. She only meant to say a gentleman might not often be in the company of servants and farmers.

  The colonel did not seem to notice the insult. "Let me carry that for you at the least; a lady should not be out alone without escort." He handed Miss Larson his cane and then gently took the basket from Catherine. He slung the basket into the crook of his arm and took the cane back from Miss Larson. "Where do these Smiths live? It is about time I made my acquaintance."

  Miss Larson smiled and shook her head. Catherine could not help but smile at him as well.

  "I am sure they will be glad of your company, as will I," Catherine said.

  The trio continued on in amiable silence. The colonel huffed a bit, and Catherine tried to offer to take the load once more, but he would hear nothing of it. I will hurt his pride to ask again. Despite that, she kept her eye on him, just in case. The farther she was from Thornwood Abbey, the more she could relax and let the morning's events slip away.

  Then as they turned down a road that was little more than wheel tracks in the grass, Col. Hawthorn spoke again. "Lady Thornton, I am going to be frank, and I hope you will forgive me."

  "You may speak freely, Col. Hawthorn." She wondered why he felt the need to present himself in such a way when he never before seemed afraid to speak his mind.

  "Your husband may very well disregard this as silly nonsense, but I have seen things in this village, and I think you, as an outsider, should be aware."

  "Oh?" A tingling sensation raced up her spine once more.

  "The woods, the Thorn Dwellers' Woods, they are dangerous." He was breathing heavily and his face was painted with a fine sheen of sweat. This walk and his burden are too taxing for a man of his health. I need to convince him to rest. Catherine noticed a shaded spot along the path.

  "Might we take a rest for a moment? I fear I am growing a bit weak," she said to the colonel.

  He huffed and nodded his head, and the three sat down on a grass hill alongside the road. She knew as a gentleman he would be inclined to accept a rest if it was for Catherine.

  As the colonel caught his breath, Catherine clarified his previous statement. "I've noticed the woods are wild, and I would not dare go into them for fear of some dangerous animal."

  He shook his head. "No,
it is more than that. The forest is home to Those Who Dwell in the Thorns."

  Miss Larson snorted in derision. Col. Hawthorn glared at her, and she looked at her hands, chastised. "The younger locals like to believe that the Thorn Dwellers are nothing but myth and superstition, your husband among them."

  Miss Larson was well into middle age, but Catherine supposed anyone younger than the elderly colonel would be considered 'youthful' to him. As for Catherine, she found the idea of monstrous creatures living in the woods behind her house to be a bit far-fetched. If I believed that, then I would have to accept that I was attacked by a ghost. She shook her head to dispel the thought.

  "You do not believe?" Col. Hawthorn accused her.

  She considered her answer. She did not want to insult him, but the very notion seemed preposterous. "I have seen no evidence that something is living in those woods," she said at last. Though I thought I saw something moving about in the woods before Mr. Thorn came out the day before last. She did not voice this aloud for fear of sounding foolish.

  He scoffed. "It will be too late once you have come face to face with one of their kind."

  Catherine shivered.

  "You seem very certain," said Miss Larson.

  He swiveled to face the lady's maid. "I know they are real because they took my daughter from me."

  Miss Larson looked skeptical, but Catherine felt compelled to ask. "In what way did they take her?"

  "On clear nights, you can hear a song. It's like nothing you have heard before. It's the song of Those That Dwell in the Thorns. They lure the innocent into their forest with their wicked music, and those that enter never return. My daughter had been out late, returning from a ball, when she heard their evil tune. I had not warned her. I thought, as you do, that it was all superstition. She went missing for weeks, and when we found her by the side of the road, her heart had been cut out."

  Catherine clamped her hand over her mouth. Miss Smith had a hole in her chest where her heart had been. Could it have been the Thorn Dwellers who killed her? That does not explain how I could have seen her ghost... Catherine shook her head again. It is all a coincidence and the fabrication of my mind. She knew that these things could not be real. It was just superstition. It seemed the colonel's daughter had been the victim of a heinous crime. Miss Larson's eyes were wide with shock as if she could not believe Col. Hawthorn would say something so shocking in the company of women.

  "Those Who Dwell in the Thorns are not to be trifled with. If you hear their unearthly song late at night, do not go out. Close your windows, shut your ears, whatever you do, you must ignore it."

  She nodded if only to placate him, she did not want to excite him further, but she could not reasonably believe there was anything in the woods behind her house.

  Col. Hawthorn groaned as he regained his feet. "Shall we continue on?"

  Catherine agreed, having no other reason to linger. They reached the cottage that Edward had described. It was a small building built out of stone with a thatched roof that looked in desperate need of repair. Broken shutters hung from the windows by their hinges. The gate was missing, and grass had grown high enough to be seen over the tops of the stone wall. The front door was ajar, and the inside was black and empty.

  Catherine hesitated before stepping through where the gate should have been. She picked her way through the garden. The stone pathway that led to the door was overgrown with weeds and proved difficult to navigate through. She stepped into the cottage with some apprehension. The table was barren and covered in dust. The cupboards were open and only a single broken jar remained. No one has been here in a very long time. She turned to her companions. Col. Hawthorn set the basket on the table.

  "I thought this house was vacant. The last tenant left over six months ago," Col. Hawthorn said as he looked about the room.

  Miss Larson was standing outside the door, avoiding Catherine's gaze. On impulse Catherine asked, "Did you know the deceased? Perhaps we have the wrong cottage?"

  Miss Larson's eyes flickered back and forth before she answered, "I never met her; maybe her family moved away after her death."

  She's lying, Catherine thought. Did Edward know that the Smiths were not here? Did they ever even exist? She looked to her companions; neither of them would meet her gaze. Catherine feared the answer to that question, because the truth just might shatter her fragile reality. Who was Miss Smith?

  Chapter Eight

  Mary knew it would reflect poorly upon her character to visit Thornwood Abbey twice in a row unescorted, but she was too eager to see the progress of her spell to care. She lied to her mother, telling her that she was planning on calling on Mrs. Oakheart. Her mother, though in support of Mary's pursuit of Lord Thornton, would not have approved of her blatant intentions. The neighbors were sure to talk if they saw. Mary reasoned once her powers were returned it would not matter; she could silence the wagging tongues herself. Today was a rare opportunity not to be wasted. Mary knew Lady Thornton would be out; her magic may have been dwindling, but her power of persuasion was as strong as ever, she was delighted to learn.

  She took the carriage, at her mother's insistence, and fidgeted all the while. I have to rely on my own natural beauty since the glamour is so weak. She wished she had a mirror in which she could check her appearance. She had taken special care in dressing. She wore a light blue gown made of soft chenille, which made her eyes glow vividly. The neckline was cut modestly while still complementing her figure. She had Mrs. Kelton curl her golden locks, and they were arranged on top of her head in a style that might be more suited for evening, instead of visiting. The carriage bumped along the road, and Mary had to steady herself with a hand on the seat to keep from toppling over and ruining her hair.

  They arrived outside of Thornwood Abbey and the carriage crunched to a halt. Catherine waited for one of Edward's footmen to let her out of the carriage or for her coachman to step down and open the door. She petted her hair while she waited, but no one came to let her out. She frowned and slid over the seat and pushed back the curtain on the carriage window. The doors to the manor were closed and there was no sign of her coachman. She tapped on the roof of the carriage.

  "Tom, please open the door."

  There was no response but the rush of wind outside the carriage door. This will never happen once I am mistress of Thornwood Abbey. Why Mama hired Mr. Bernard's half-witted son to drive the carriage, I will never know. He's probably wandered off like the simpleton he is. Mary gave a resigned sigh and opened the carriage door. It was as she had feared; there was no one to greet her. They must have seen my arrival. Why has no one come out to help me out of the carriage? She hovered in the door of the carriage, bent over in a most unflattering position for a few moments before she gave up and climbed out on her own. It was difficult to do considering she had always had help before getting in and out of carriages. She stumbled, her feet catching on the step down.

  She threw her hands out to catch herself before she collided with the gravel. A hand caught her around the waist and the air was expelled from her lungs as she made contact with her savior's arm. Her feet hit the ground hard, and pain shot up her leg.

  "Ouch, you oaf. Where were you when I was calling for help?" she scolded who she thought was Tom, but when she looked up she was staring into startling dark eyes and a handsome face.

  Her breath caught and she fumbled with the right words, something that had never been a problem for her in the past. "I am so sorry, Mr...?" she said, fishing for an introduction.

  The stranger took a step back, letting Mary stand on her own two feet. She was given a glimpse of his lean physique, large hands and long limbs. He was handsome to be certain, but judging from his clothes--plain rough-spun slacks and a white shirt opened just beneath the collar--he was no gentleman. Such a pity, he looks to be a gardener. She let her eyes linger on the flesh at his throat, it was olive, and from what she could glimpse of his chest, it was well defined. She heaved a sigh of disappointment. Ma
ybe he would be good as a bedmate. I know there are plenty of men willing to sleep with well-to-do ladies for a few bobbles and a promotion or two. I will remember him once I take my rightful place. Edward is sure to entertain me for a while, and we will need to have a child first, but later...

  "Introductions will not be necessary. I am here to give you a warning," he said. His voice was a medium timber with a sensual undertone.

  She did not understand him at first. She was too entranced by his looks and the velvet touch of his voice. He glared at her and the full brunt of his meaning struck her like a blow. She had never been spoken to that way before. "I beg your pardon?" She must have misheard him. A man of his station would never dare speak to me this way.

  He crossed his arms over his chest and gave her a look that terrified her. There was something feral hidden behind those dark eyes. "I know what you are, and I know what you're doing here. And I am warning you to stay away from this place."

  She was not sure if she should be amused or offended. It is too bad he lacks any respect for authority. To think someone of his station would presume to speak to me in such a way.

  "What exactly do you think I am?"

  "I know you think yourself as a child of the Fae, but you're nothing more than a common hedge witch. You have small magic and you use it to influence the other humans around you."

  She pulled her lips back to reveal her teeth and hiss at him. "How dare you call me common! My family can trace its lineage back through generations of interbreeding with the Fae. My father was a Fae lord!"

  He laughed; it was a mocking sound. "Your father is a fat lazy human who has gotten so with the benefit of living beside the Thorn Dwellers' Woods, just like all the other people living here."

  "That's not true! My mother would never sire a child off of that man!"