He froze, before straightening to look at me. “Very well,” he said. “You are sure, Katrina?”
“I can think of nothing else.”
“You are certain about the risks we are taking, I mean.”
“Of course,” I said again. “Are you … you are not?”
He was silent, causing my body to grow cold, though it was quite warm in the small room. “I have been struggling with myself,” he said at last. “With my selfishness, that I would put you in harm’s way; risk your honor, your reputation…”
I took his face in my hands. “If I do not have a care for those things, my love, then neither should you.”
He turned his head and kissed my palm.
“Whatever shall come—whatever pleasure or pain, whatever sorrow or misfortune—we shall meet it together,” I said.
This time he kissed me on the lips. “Ah, Katrina,” he said softly. “I am uncertain about many things, it is true, but never you. Never you.”
* * *
And so passed another anxious three days, another three days of frantically filling them up with whatever activities I could. I could scarcely even read, for my mind wandered in a way that made me most impatient.
On the appointed night, I waited impatiently for the midnight hour to approach. At half past eleven, I could wait no longer. No one had stirred for some time, and I knew I must make my escape now, or perish of anticipation.
I donned my cloak—which I had sneaked into the laundry tub days ago—and slipped out of my bedchamber, moving down the stairs and to the kitchen as noiselessly as I could. I paused, listening to see if anyone had heard and would come to investigate. If I was caught now, I could easily say I could not sleep and wanted a bit of air. If someone awoke and found me halfway to the Albany Post Road, well, that would be harder to explain.
It felt like an eternity that I stood in the doorway, the warm night air breathing over my skin and bringing it to life; yet it was likely only two minutes. Determining that no one had heard me, I stepped out and pulled the door closed quietly behind me, setting out for the woods.
As soon as I stepped within the trees, my heart began to pound—and not just in pleasurable anticipation. I could not remember ever having ventured into the woods alone after dark—indeed, never alone at all, for I always had Nox with me. Last time, Ichabod had been with me, and his presence, coupled with the knowledge of what we had been about to do, had served to efficiently distract my mind from my fears. Without him, I had no such safeguard.
Even as I knew wild animals posed the greatest danger, my sole thought was of the Headless Horseman. Surely I was just the sort of unwitting traveler he preyed upon on his nightly rides? A foolish soul who left the safety of her house and ventured into his territory by night, and so close to the witching hour?
My eyes darted frantically through the darkness, ears alert for the sound of hooves, of a horse whinnying, of a sword being unsheathed. My breath caught in my throat, and I thought I might never regain it.
The Horseman is not real, I reminded myself as I quickened my pace, nearly running. He is a legend, a fable, naught but a tale to tell on cold nights around the fire. He is not real.
But what if he is?
When I reached the clearing, I almost wept to see that Ichabod was not there yet. I knew he would come soon, yet after my fearful trek I did not see how I could bear to wait there alone. He should be here any minute, yes? How long had it taken me to get here? It must be almost midnight …
I moved closer to the stream and paused, listening to the forest around me. It was not quiet, in truth: the breeze rustled the leaves of the trees; crickets played their nightly tune; and in the distance an owl let out his mournful call. I stood rooted, my every limb and muscle paralyzed, all my senses trained on listening for anything unnatural moving through the brush, a galloping horse, footsteps …
I thought that perhaps I may as well sit down, may as well make myself as comfortable as I could and try to relax, yet I could not bring myself to move. What if I must flee, flee for my life? I wondered. Better to stay on my feet, and be ready. My breath came faster now, and with more difficulty; it felt as though the darkness was smothering me from all sides.
Slowly, reluctantly, I turned to look at the path from which I had come, afraid to face what may be standing there. Yet there was nothing and no one; just the night.
I let out a ragged breath, but did not relax. My eyes kept flicking every which way, probing, searching. The reasonable voices of my mind had long since been overridden by this very primal fear. Please, Ichabod, come soon. Please!
What if he does not come? What if he has been detained, or is unwell, or is lost in the dark and cannot find his way without me to guide him? In that instant, what upset me most was not that I might not see him at all that night, but the notion of having to make my way back out of the woods alone, with fear in my every breath and terror in every step and the horrible pictures in my mind of what was surely lurking amongst the trees.
What if the Horseman had taken Ichabod?
My mind had just begun its descent into that particular hell when I heard the sound of hooves drawing near. I let out a scream of pure, bone-piercing terror.
“Katrina!” I heard a voice call, and I screamed again. I tried, in a blind panic, to run for the path, but a pair of arms caught me.
“Katrina,” he said hurriedly, even as I was drawing breath to scream again. “Katrina, it is me! Ichabod!”
I collapsed against him, feeling as though all the life had drained out of me, and he staggered a bit, surprised by my sudden weight. “Oh, thank God.” Tears sprang to my eyes. “Thank God.”
“Katrina, what has happened?” he demanded. “Why are you in such a state?” I could feel him turning his head, scanning the clearing. “Have you seen someone? Is there someone here?”
“No,” I sobbed into his shoulder. “No one … at least I do not think … oh, Ichabod.” I drew back, struggling to pull myself together. “I feel quite the fool. I have worked myself into a right state, coming into the woods alone, waiting here alone…”
“I came as fast as I could.” He released me, stepping away to tie up his horse.
“I know you did,” I called to him. “I know. I have not even been waiting that long. It is just…” I shuddered. “I was thinking of the legend of the Horseman, and my imagination quite ran away with me.”
He returned, drawing me close again. “Do not fret. All is well,” he whispered against my hair. “Although I can scarcely blame you.” Again he glanced around us. “There is something about these woods at night, something unsettling. Perhaps it is as you say, only the legends weighing upon us. And yet I cannot help but feel that there is more to it than that…”
I shivered, and he tightened his arms around me.
“Ah, Katrina,” he whispered. “I am sorry. I am so sorry.”
I pulled back slightly so that I could see his face. “What do you have to apologize for?”
He sighed. “All this … everything. That you should have to come out here into the woods alone at night, that I should bring you here…”
“I chose to come,” I reminded him. “I fell prey to a flight of fancy, nothing more—”
He was silent. “But it is not right,” he said finally. “That you—that we—should be reduced to this: sneaking off into the woods to couple like animals. That this is to what I have brought my future wife…”
“Ichabod, no,” I whispered. “Do not think of it that way.”
“Is there another way to think of it?” he asked, angry now.
“Of course there is,” I said, slipping my arms around his waist. “We are doing whatever it takes to be together. We love each other too much to do otherwise. It is all very romantic, in truth.” I looked up, only to find his face stony, inscrutable. “Or do I have it wrong?” I asked, stepping away from him. “Do we not love each other that much?”
He sighed again. “Katrina, please. You know it is not that. I just wa
nt to give you something better than a few hours in the woods where—”
“I appreciate that,” I said. I moved back into his arms and kissed him, deeply. “Yet I only ask for comfort. And love.”
He pulled away. “I should ask your father for your hand without delay,” he said. “We should not go on like this.”
“Shhh.” I silenced him with another kiss. “All in good time.”
This time, his lips sought mine, and his hands began to roam over my body. I smiled against his mouth and reached down, beginning to unlace his breeches.
“Wait,” he said, and I paused, though I did not remove my hands.
“Wait?” I asked innocently. “Surely you will not try to talk me out of this again, love. For I can feel that you are most ready…”
He groaned slightly. “Yes. But … just wait a moment.” He returned to where his horse was tethered and came back with a large blanket. “It is not much, but it is something,” he said, spreading it on the ground. “What I would not give to be able to make love to you in a proper bed.”
“All in good time,” I said again. I untucked his loose shirt from his breeches and lifted it over his head.
“My turn,” he said, grinning. He turned me around and pressed close against my back as he untied my cloak, letting it drop to the ground, then unlaced my dress. Once I had stepped out of it and my boots, he let his hands trail over the thin cotton of my shift, down my stomach and sides and hips. He held me tightly against him and began to kiss my neck.
I sighed, tilting my head to one side, letting his lips trail down to my collarbone. My heart was racing again, as fast as it had in my fear, yet this time each beat awoke my skin, my nerves, the tips of my breasts and between my legs. I could feel his hardness pressing against my lower back, and it only aroused me more.
I spun to face him, and he tangled his hands in my hair and kissed me, hungrily, as though he would devour me. And that was just what I wanted him to do.
Mouth working, I finished the task I had begun of unlacing his breeches, pushing them down to his ankles. He kicked them away, and returned to kissing me.
It was just as I remembered, yet more vivid because it was all happening again, and not just in my memory. Every inch of our skin was pressed together, and for a moment we did not kiss, just stood there, our arms wrapped around each other, feeling the contours of each other’s body, savoring each breath and each point where our skin met, savoring the intimacy of the moment while anticipating what would come next.
His breathing quickened, and I could feel his heart begin to beat faster. It was he who broke away first, leading me to the blanket, and I pulled him down atop me. We did not speak; we did not need to. I opened my legs to him, and he thrust inside me with a soft moan. There was no pain this time; my back arched with pleasure, and I sighed aloud as he entered me. He moved within me quickly, and I bucked my hips to meet him, gasping aloud as pleasure began to build higher and higher within me. Too soon he shuddered against me, moaning my name, then dropped his head to my shoulder, spent.
I let my head fall back to the ground, breathing hard, enjoying the feel of him still inside me yet somehow disappointed. Whatever I had seemed to be waiting for had not come.
“I am sorry, my love,” he said, as he lifted himself off me to lay at my side.
“And what do you apologize for now?” I asked.
“I have not been the most considerate lover,” he said. He leaned over and kissed me. “Allow me to recover, and I shall make it up to you.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
He laughed. “I will show you. All in good time.”
He tucked me into his side, and I allowed my hands to wander over his chest, the taut muscles of his arms and back. In turn he caressed the curve of my side with his long fingers, raising gooseflesh along my skin, skin too used to being under the cover of many layers of clothes. How wonderful, I was finding, to feel sensations against one’s bare skin other than mere cloth, or water when washing: the flesh of a lover; the warm, fragrant night air; even the slight dampness of the ground beneath the blanket.
“Only this,” he whispered, after a time. I glanced at him questioningly. “I need only this for all the rest of the days of my life, and I shall be the happiest of men.”
I laughed. “You are easily pleased, I think.”
“What man would not be, with the most beautiful, charming, and intelligent of women in his arms?”
“Well then, since you ask so little, you shall have your wish. You shall have me. We shall have this, all our days.”
“Sometimes I fear God will not allow it, for to give us such bliss in this life will surely make the delights of heaven pale by comparison.”
I gasped in mock outrage. “You blaspheme, sir.”
“Not even God can alter the truth.”
“I find that your words quite enflame me,” I said, lightly stroking his manhood. He stiffened under my fingers. “And speaking of words, I believe you owe me an explanation of your earlier ones.”
“You are quite right, madam.” In one swift motion, he had me on my back again. “I do indeed.”
Balancing himself on his arms, he kissed me, deeply, his tongue slowly moving against mine. I arched, gripped him tightly, wanting what came next.
He kissed his way slowly down my body, lavishing every inch of skin with attention from his mouth and hands. It may have been minutes; it may have been hours. I gasped and writhed beneath him, feeling as though I was about to be torn apart.
Finally, he kissed my lips once more, and lowered himself onto me as I eagerly wrapped my legs around his waist. Yet he was not to be rushed. Gently he slid into me, and began to move with excruciating slowness. Again my hips met his thrusts, and I heard myself moaning, gasping, begging for more in incomprehensible words.
“Ichabod … yes … please…”
He began to move a bit faster, just a bit, and I moaned again, in frustrated anticipation. That same sensation began to build within me, a delicious, unbearable, almost painful pressure, lifting me higher and higher. “Please…” I said again, wantonly pleading, not sure for what.
He thrust again, and again, a bit faster, a bit deeper, and suddenly I felt myself falling from those heights to which I had been lifted, heard my voice crying out wordlessly, felt my head fall back in ecstasy as my whole body shuddered around him. His mouth came down on mine as his own body was wracked with pleasure, and I clung to him until I landed softly, still in his arms.
I felt as though my body had turned to liquid, as though I was melting into the ground. After a few steadying breaths, I opened my eyes and met his. “Oh,” I said.
“Indeed.” His eyes searched mine. “Are you happy, my love?”
“In body and in spirit,” I said. “You have most admirably fulfilled your promise.”
“I am glad to hear it,” he said. He again settled himself next to me. “I pride myself on being a man of my word, after all.”
“Then I must make sure to extract many more such promises from you in the future.”
He let out a hearty laugh at that and I joined him, our laughter ringing into the night. “And what,” he asked, once our laughter had subsided, “is the Dutch word for lover?”
I smiled and pressed a kiss against his jaw. “Minnaar,” I murmured.
“Mijn minnaar, and soon to be mijn vrouw.”
We fell into another deep kiss. If the Horseman indeed lurked in the forest that night, surely such incandescent joy as ours chased him away.
19
Suitors
There was no fear to be found in my journey back out of the forest. I sat before Ichabod on Gunpowder’s saddle as we road down the path, indulging in the feel of his body against mine for as long as I could. When we reached the edge of the Van Tassel land, he brought us to a halt.
“Much as I would like to see you safely to your door, I fear I must leave you here,” he said. “You could hardly be faulted for taking a nighttime st
roll on your own property; however, my presence would be far more difficult to explain.”
I slid from the saddle reluctantly. “Goodnight, my love. Take care on your ride back.”
He grasped my hand in his. “I shall. Do not fear for me. You, take care as well.”
“I love you,” I whispered. “I will see you again soon.”
“Nothing could prevent it,” he promised me.
The walk into the woods suddenly seemed much easier than the walk away from him. As terrified as I had been mere hours before, I now wanted to return to the darkness of the trees and never leave, if only he could always be by my side.
And yet as I glanced back at him once more, I could have sworn I saw a light in the woods behind him, a flickering, orange glow, like that of a flame. Of a flaming pumpkin borne by a ghostly rider, perhaps. My breath caught in my throat as I stared, blinking rapidly, but then it was gone, and soon Ichabod had turned and ridden away. Frozen, I stared into the distant woods, eyes probing among the dark branches, but I could see nothing. Uneasily, I turned back toward the house and quickened my pace.
I tugged open the side door and paused, listening. When I did not hear anyone within, I cautiously stepped inside. Closing the door behind me, I quietly climbed the stairs to my bedchamber, where I quickly stripped down to my shift. I wanted nothing more than to climb into bed and sink into the delicious memories of the past few hours, but I had one pressing task to attend to first.
I retrieved the jar of herbs from a large trunk that held my books—one place that Nancy would never have cause to search through. The trunk had been purchased for me in New York by my father to serve as my hope chest, and hold new linens and undergarments and the like, but those things I stored carelessly in my wardrobe so as to have more room for books.
Clutching the small jar tightly, I made my way back downstairs to the kitchen. Now, at least, if anyone should happen to awaken, I was doing nothing untoward—I certainly had a right to be in my own kitchen at any hour of the night.
I stoked the embers of the kitchen hearth into a flame, then placed the copper pot on its iron hook above the fire, filling it with water from the pitcher Cook kept on hand. I waited as the water boiled, unable to keep a silly smile from my face …
The Spellbook of Katrina Van Tassel Page 11
