"I've been thinking," Edward said as Mr. Hobbs took away his plate. "You've seen so little of Thornwood; perhaps we should go on a tour of the village and farms."
"I would enjoy that," she replied and then her gaze fell to her plate. Edward was beaming at her, and though she wanted to appear confident and assured in their marriage, old habits were difficult to break.
Edward called for the coach to be brought around. Catherine had to stifle her panic. She had yet to resolve where this fear came from, but she wanted to appear strong for Edward's sake. To her great relief, the coachman brought around the two seat roadster. It was open and pulled by a single horse. It did not evoke any irrational fear in her, which would make their afternoon that much more enjoyable. The coachman stepped down. He was a short stocky man with thick arms and short legs.
"Where's Mr. Horn?" Edward asked the coachman.
"He's been missing for a few days, milord," the coachman said.
Edward frowned. Another coachman missing? Is that just coincidence? "That is strange. I hope everything is well with him. Has he been into the bottle again?" Edward inquired.
The coachman nodded sadly. "I think so, milord. He's bound to turn up sooner or later, though."
Edward nodded. "I'm sure he will."
Edward helped Catherine into the seat of the tiny carriage and took the coachman's seat for himself. It was strangely intimate being pressed together in the two-seat carriage. Edward flicked the whip and the horse shot off, kicking up gravel as they swooped around the circular driveway. They went down the country road, and Edward pointed out the different sights. He gestured to neighbors' homes, the local pub, The Fairy Bride, the shops in the village which she had visited. After a while the town fell away and the forest cleared up, and they were in a small stretch of farmland. Every so often there was a farmhouse with smoke curling up from the chimneys rising above the rolling fog. They pulled onto a road and Catherine wondered where they were headed. The cottage they stopped outside was pressed against the forest. The trees were dark and ominous here, and just being near them put Catherine ill at ease. Edward jumped out of the carriage and took Catherine's hand to help her down.
"This is the home of Mr. John Larson and his wife, Mrs. Henrietta Larson. They are the parents of your lady's maid," he said.
"Oh." Catherine was curious to meet her lady's maid's parents after hearing what they had done for their one surviving daughter. She wondered if there was something she could do to make their lives easier. She would have to ask Edward about that, she supposed.
Edward linked hands with Catherine and led her up to the door. He rapped upon it and then turned to her with a smile. Her stomach did a flip. This was a playful side of Edward that she found quite charming. They waited for an answer. Catherine glanced around. Everything was neat and orderly. The fences were well maintained, and a few pigs were wallowing in the mud nearby.
"I wonder if they are out in the field," Edward said. He peered about and squinted at the nearby field. It was so thick with fog it was impossible to see anything farther than a few meters ahead. "I'm going to take the roadster down and see. Wait here, darling."
Catherine hesitated. Though she could not see anything in the windows, she sensed someone watching her from the shadows. The Thorn Dwellers were never far away; it was from this spot they had snatched the Larsons' daughter. Before she could stop Edward, he had jumped in the coach and rode off down the road. Catherine wrapped her arms closer to her chest and waited. It seemed to have gotten colder all of the sudden, though she could not say why.
A twig snapped behind her, and Catherine spun in place. She expected to see one of the farmers coming towards her, but instead she saw Mr. Thorn.
"Lady Thornton, now this is a surprise." He smiled and hooked his fingers into the waistband of his pants. She had a feeling this was not a surprise for him at all.
Seeing him left her feeling conflicted. She knew he was quite possibly her only hope of getting answers about the Thorn Dwellers, while she also feared he might be one of them. She could not stand there staring at him mutely, so she asked, a bit breathless, "Mr. Thorn, what are you doing here?" Her fear had not abated now that he had arrived. It had not occurred to her until now, but he always seemed to show up whenever something out of the ordinary had happened. How much did she really want to know about Those Who Dwelled in the Thorns? Perhaps ignorance might be better in this case.
"I came to investigate a disappearance."
"Who has disappeared?"
"The Larsons, and they did not disappear, they're dead."
Catherine's world swayed back and forth. Mr. Thorn had such a direct way of speaking it was hard to comprehend. Surely she misheard him. What sort of man would say such an awful thing in front of a lady? Someone who is no man at all but one of those evil creatures.
"I beg your pardon?" She pressed her hands to her throat.
"Judging from your expression, I have said something I should not have. Forgive me. I am not well versed in proper etiquette. The Larsons have met an unfortunate end, I am afraid."
She shook her head as if the action would change the truth. Mr. Thorn was watching her, his head tilted to the side and his body inclined towards her. It may have been her imagination, but it seemed he was trying to get closer to her. She felt the need to make small talk just to fill the silence and fight the fear. She asked, "How?"
"That is not something a gentleman should say in front of a lady," he said with a more serious tone. He took a step closer to her.
She clutched at her collar and squeezed the fabric. She looked over her shoulder, expecting Edward to return any moment. He must have realized the Larsons were not in the fields. When she looked back to Mr. Thorn, he was very close to her. Near enough that she could see his smooth, clean-shaven face and smell the woodsy scent of his skin.
He lifted his hand and it hovered over her face. She watched him, in a trance, as he traced the contours of her features without touching her. She should step away and return to a proper distance, but her body would not respond to her commands. This is wildly inappropriate, but I cannot move. It is as if my body is glued to this very spot.
"Lady Thornton, why have I never before noticed..." He trailed off as he examined her face.
She wondered what he had meant to say. She tilted her head back to meet his dark eyes, but instead they were a bright green. "Mr. Thorn, my husband is nearby. If you do anything untoward, I will scream."
She had little time to make good on her threat because Mr. Thorn pressed his lips to hers.
Chapter Fifteen
The road was cloaked in fog, and Edward had to strain to see beyond the edge of the carriage. I cannot have another tenant leave. What will I do if they all disappear? I would be ruined. As soon as I find them, Catherine and I will return to Thornwood, and I will write Mr. Wolfe about this. We have to give the tenants some sort of incentive to stay in Thornwood. Can I afford a bonus perhaps? Edward harried his horse down the road and along the fields. He squinted into the mist, trying to find any sign of Mr. Larson. He drew up alongside a fenced-in field. There was something lying on the ground. It looked like nothing more than a smudge of gray in the wall of white. He pulled back on the reins and brought the roadster to a quick stop. He hopped down from the seat and jumped over the fence. Is he sleeping in the middle of the day?
"Mr. Larson, this is Lord Thornton. I came around to introduce you to my wife." He drew closer to the lump on the ground. He was certain it was a person now. He could see the hand clearly. The wheat had been pressed down around him. Did he collapse? Edward could not see his torso or his head; they were shielded from view by the wheat. "Mr. Larson, are you hurt?"
Edward drew closer and then stopped. There was a dark pool of liquid on the ground, just beneath Mr. Larson's hand. Edward took a few careful steps and then pushed the wheat aside. There lying on the ground was what he could only assume was the body of Mr. Larson. The victim was of the age, judging by the white hair sp
lattered with blood, and the size of Mr. Larson. Edward could see few details because of the state of the corpse, but he was sure it had to be him. Something had attacked the elderly farmer, and he had been torn to shreds. His face was gone and his body had been ripped open, and his abdomen was nothing but an empty cavern. The wheat had been pressed around him in a lopsided circle; there had been a struggle. Edward could not stop the bile that came up and he ran a few feet away, where he evacuated the contents of his stomach. He was shaking all over as he tried to right his world. What could have done this to this man? He refused to believe this was anything other than an animal attack. There was no way a human could do that to his fellow man.
He sat back on his haunches, afraid to look at the corpse. Is this what has been happening to my tenants? He balled his hands into fists against his thighs. He stood up and tried again to look at what was left of Mr. Larson. He pulled out a handkerchief to cover his mouth as he surveyed the gruesome scene. There was blood everywhere, staining the ground and circling the body. He shook his head and looked away; he could not face it any longer.
Thornwood is such a peaceful place. I cannot imagine how something like this could happen here. He looked around. The fog had rolled back, and he saw a horse and plow a few meters away. It would appear Mr. Larson had been caught unawares while he was tilling his field. There were a hundred different things Edward knew he should be doing. However, the sight of the blood, the gruesome reality of this predicament, was clouding his judgment. What will I tell his wife? Then a wrecked thought occurred to him. What if this creature killed her as well? What if it is still nearby? Catherine may be in danger.
He ran back to the roadster. He jumped into the coachman's seat and whipped the horse harder than necessary. The beast screeched but took off like a shot. He leaned forward in the seat, willing the animal to move faster, his hand squeezing the whip hard enough to break. He held his breath, expecting Catherine to scream at any moment, but he heard nothing. What if she is too far away for me to hear her screams? He had not even considered her safety when he had gone searching for the Larsons. He had been so assured in the safety of Thornwood that the danger of leaving his wife alone had never crossed his mind. If anything happens to her, I will never forgive myself. The road was bumpy, and he rattled about in the carriage, gripping on the edge for dear life.
He pulled up in front of the Larson's cottage and saw no sign of Catherine. He jumped out of the carriage and made a mad search for her. He threw open the door to the cottage and found it empty. He went out by the pigpens where he had last seen Catherine; there was not a trace of her. Not even a sign of a struggle.
"Catherine!" he shouted into the mist.
There was no answer. He ran behind the cottage; there was a narrow track that was flanked by the line of trees. At the edge of the forest he saw a foot that was missing a shoe. He rushed over to it and found blood splatters on the leaves and against a nearby chicken coop. The ground was dusted with chicken feathers, and a bucket of feed had been overturned and feed was scattered across the ground. Edward fell onto the ground beside the body and hit his knees hard. He did not even feel the pain as he crawled over to the immobile form. To his combined relief and horror he discovered the body of Mrs. Larson. The elderly woman had fared better than her husband, in that she was recognizable, but her dress was torn and bloody, and in the space where her heart should have been there was a gaping bloody wound.
Edward retched, but nothing came out. He scrambled backwards and hit his back against the chicken coop. Inside there was silence. Whatever had killed the farmers had killed their chickens as well. Maybe that was what had begun the attack; some wild creature killed a few chickens. The farmer's wife tried to stop him and the animal turned on them. What do we have in our woods aside from a few fox and deer? Could it have been a wild dog? He had little enough time to consider it. He needed to find Catherine. He climbed to shaking feet. Where could she have gone? She may be lying somewhere too weak to call for help. He noticed the forest for the first time since his panicked search began, and he ran into it. The forest would be the most sensible place to run if Catherine had been under attack.
He called out her name, but his voice only echoed back at him. The forest was dense with undergrowth, and he found it difficult to navigate. The trees themselves seemed to press upon him, forcing him in different directions. Boulders sprang up and blocked his path; he tore his clothes on thorny bushes. He stumbled about, falling to his knees before climbing back up and continuing to shout Catherine's name. The forest was unnaturally silent. There was no sound but for Edward's labored breathing. He could not even hear the rustle of the wind in the trees or the scurrying of animals in the underbrush. There was no sign of a single living soul other than him. It was as if he were completely alone in the world.
He had been going around in circles for what felt like ages when he emerged at the edge of the forest back where he had begun. Somehow he had gotten turned around inside the forest. He growled with frustration and raked his hands through his sandy blond hair. Catherine, where are you? Give me a sign.
"It is a sad day when the forest rejects its guardian," said a thin and crackling voice.
Edward turned, his hands raised ready to strike who dared mock his pain. An old woman was standing beside the pigpens. She leaned on a cane as she grinned at him, showing her blacked gapped teeth. She had a sparse covering of white hair on her head. Her face was wrinkled to the point that her cheeks drooped and sagged, and even her eyes were hooded to the point she had to squint out from beneath them.
"Who are you, and what have you done with my wife?" he snarled and took a step towards her.
She rose up a crabbed hand to stop him.
"I am a friend, and it was not I who stole away your wife but Ray Thorn."
The name sounded vaguely familiar. "Is he the one who killed the Larsons?" When he had seen Mr. Larson, he could not imagine it as anything but an animal, but after seeing Mrs. Larson with her missing heart he had second thoughts. "What is he planning on doing with my wife?" Edward had to exercise all of his self-control to stop himself from shaking the woman for answers. If that monster of a man could butcher the Larsons, then what would he do to Catherine?
She shook her head, and the folds on her neck swayed back and forth. "I do not know what he plans for your wife for certain. However, I can tell you if you do not move quickly, she will share the same fate as her." She pointed toward where Mrs. Larson's body lay.
Edward was vibrating with anger and fear. His wife was in danger and he could do nothing to stop it. "He took her into the forest, did he? There's nowhere else it could be. I would have seen them had they come by the road."
He did not wait for her to answer and ran full speed into the forest. He ran a few feet before emerging once more on the opposite side of the old woman. He punched a nearby tree and swore. It was most ungentlemanly and a nasty habit from his schoolboy days. He could think of no better way to express his current situation.
The old woman waited for him to finish. He was panting and scowling at her once he was done. "There is one way to save your wife. You must kill Ray Thorn," the old woman said.
"What do you mean kill him? Madame, I am not some savage. I would ask him to a duel if it came down to it. That is a gentleman's way." What was he saying? This was not how he should be going about this. He needed to call for the constable. He needed to organize a search party. The man must be reasoned with. Perhaps he wanted money; Edward would give him whatever he wanted if it meant he would have Catherine returned safely to him.
She cackled. "You are blind for one of your position. He will never conform to human conventions, and it will be the death of you, Lord Thornton."
"If he is a gentleman, then he will do what is right." A gentleman would never commit these heinous crimes. Edward amended, "My fear is that he is not a gentleman at all. If he is as vile as you are leading me to believe, what can I do to save my wife? How do I find them?"
"You must wait for the forest to let you enter or wait for her to be returned to you; whether or not she is alive and when, remains to be seen."
Edward looked woefully to the forest. For reasons that defied explanation, he could not get beyond a few feet into the forest without it expelling him out from whence he came.
"How do I get inside?"
She laughed again. "If I knew that, I would have no need of you."
He looked at her, puzzled. This woman spoke in riddles. "Then what do you suggest?"
"I suggest you take this." She tossed him a sword. He had not seen her holding it. It was as if she had drawn it from thin air. He caught it with one hand. It was ancient. The handle was peeling and cracked. The blade was long and dull. It was red from rust, and it appeared too blunt to possibly do damage to anyone.
"What am I supposed to do with this?"
"That is an iron sword. Your ancestors used it against the Fae before the pact was made. The Fae cannot withstand the touch of iron. You need only to pierce Ray Thorn with that and he will die and your wife will be safe."
Edward looked down at the sword and wondered if perhaps this woman might be a bit mad. Fae? Like in the children's stories? Next she would have him believe this Ray Thorn was one of the mythical Thorn Dwellers. He would have scoffed if he were not worried sick over Catherine. He looked up to tell the old woman she should leave but found instead she had disappeared. It was for the best; the woman had wasted precious time. He had to find Catherine. He hurried back to the roadster. He looked once more at the sword before tossing it into the passenger side of the carriage. He brought the sword, just in case. If on the off chance the old woman was not insane, it might come in handy if he did meet this Ray Thorn.
Heart of Thorns Page 14
