she could run in her best dress, and that thought was
unnerving. Quickly she reminded herself she was being
silly. Someone was in the woods, and all she wanted to do
was learn who they were. They did not need to see her.
Near silence entombed the wood. Insects whined close
to her ears, but she brushed them away. The scents of
greenery, which would have been so enticingly fresh in
spring, now stank autumn’s decay.
Not sure exactly where she would find the private glade
she sought, Darcy pushed through the undergrowth. Briars
caught on her heavy cape, but she pulled the wool off the
bushes. She tried to keep her steps soundless and to watch
where she walked. The ground might drop off here, too.
She smiled as she emerged into a clearing. The muted
light of the moon, fading behind clouds, pooled in its center.
To one side a small brooklet whispered secrets. She did
not stay to admire it when she noticed a path leading out
of it. Lights bounced in that direction.
She followed the path through the trees, ready to jump
into the deeper shadows if a light came too close. When
she heard chanting in front of her, she slowed. Were the
chanters the ones who had brought the torches?
Hesitating, she shivered as she heard the music’s
frantic rhythm. It sounded so primitive. Suddenly she
wanted nothing more than to hurry back to a haven in
Rosewood Hall. She had seen and heard enough to be able
to tell Simon a group was using the wood for some sort of
ceremony.
Retracing her steps, she paused when she heard an
exultant cheer from behind her. Although she could not
submerge her curiosity to find out what was happening,
she kept walking. Simon could send for the constable to
banish the trespassers from the wood.
A shadow moved in front of her, becoming a human
form. She was seized from behind. When she opened her
mouth to scream, a cloth was stuffed into it, cutting off
her cry. She struggled to escape, but could not keep another
cloth from being tied over her eyes. She was shoved to the
ground. A sharp pain from her right knee raced up her leg,
and she moaned. Those same hands pulled her up and
forward. Where were they taking her? She tried to lash
out with her feet, but hit nothing. Her arms were wrenched
back around the full base of a tree and her wrists bound.
Footsteps faded into the distance. She might be alone,
or there might be others still here. She heard the chanting
begin again, but no closer than before. What was going
on? Why had someone ambushed her and left her here?
Her anger and frustration escalated into terror as
coolness oozed up from the damp ground and soaked her
dress. She tried to wiggle into a more comfortable position,
but each motion added to the ache burning across her
shoulders and the anguish of her knee. Her jaw hurt from
the gag. She leaned her head back against the rough trunk.
Whoever had bound her had known well how to keep her
from escaping.
The chanting voices, speaking some language she did
not recognize, became more feverish. The music leaped
through the trees like a stag. A lone voice—a man’s voice—
could be heard over the others. Then it was silent.
Completely and frighteningly silent. Whatever was
happening must be over. Bushes rustled, and she tensed.
No one came near. Was she going to be left here?
The crack of a single branch reverberated through the
night like thunder. A broad hand gripped her right shoulder,
fingers digging painfully beneath it. When those same
fingers began to undo the buttons on her dress’ modest
collar, she forgot the agony. Her cries came out as a muffled
moan. Again she tried to kick at someone. Again her feet
found nothing.
When she pressed her chin to her chest, the only way
she could halt those fingers, her face was grasped and her
head pushed back into the tree. The fingers continued to
loosen the buttons, one very slowly after another. Her
almost numb hands tried to clench behind the tree, but the
motion was no longer possible.
She recoiled when the fingers brushed her breast,
sickened by what had been so luscious when Simon
touched her there. One finger slipped beneath her gaping
gown, and she tried to press so far back against the tree
she could put space between her and that touch.
It lifted her necklace from under her dress. No! No
one must be allowed to steal her necklace. The gold would
be valuable to a thief, but she prized it as her only
connection to Jaddeh and the life she had lost. The pendant
dropped back against her, and she gasped. If she was not
about to be robbed, then what was happening here?
“It is Thoth, I see,” came a man’s voice close to her
right ear.
She kicked in that direction, but it was as useless as
before.
“Sit still,” he hissed like a giant serpent. “Never come
here again, woman, or you will be the next to face the
wrath of the god.”
She wanted to ask what he meant, but moaned as her
arms were released. They fell heavily to her sides. She
tried to make her deadened fingers work so she could pull
the gag away. Dropping it to the ground, she coughed as
she drew in a breath. A hand clapped over her mouth.
“Make a sound, and you will die now.”
She nodded, fearing he would do just as he threatened.
His hand lifted from her lips. Struggling to untie the cloth
over her eyes, she drew in a steadying breath. She began
to cough and cough.
Darcy looked around her. She was alone. Who was
the man who had spoken to her? His snakelike whisper
had distorted his voice so much she doubted she would
recognize his real one. He had spoken of a god. Was some
sort of pagan cult using this wood for their ceremonies?
Rising cautiously, she swayed. She grasped the tree
as she struggled to stay on her feet, then retched when
everything seemed to whirl around her. Pushing herself
away from the tree, she lurched through the woods, wanting
to find the quickest way back to Rosewood Hall and safety.
She entered a clearing. It was not the one she had found
before. She choked back her horror when she stared at the
stamped-down grass. She had blundered into the place
where the ritual had been held. In the clearing’s center
was a stone table long enough for her to lie on. It was
shadowed by overhanging branches. Some bits of a mineral
encrusted in the stone sparkled in the evaporating
moonlight.
She had to leave here before one of them came back.
Gathering up her dress and cloak as high as she could, she
ran. Her weak legs failed her. She threw out her hands to
catch herself as she fell. Her cheek scraped the stone table.
Darcy shuddered and drew her hands away from the
cold stone.
Something was wet on her fingers, and her
stomach rose in disgust.
Blood!
She wiped her hands on the grass. Edging away from
the stone table, she pushed herself up and fought not to be
ill when she saw a dead cat on top of the stone. Its throat
had been slit.
You will be the next to face the wrath of the god. The
man’s strange whisper echoed through her head. Now—
as she stared at the dead cat—she understood what he
meant.
Twelve
Darcy’s side ached as she reeled across the uneven
ground toward Rosewood Hall. Pressing her hand to her
ribs, she stumbled forward. She wanted to believe what
she had just experienced was nothing more than a horrible
nightmare.
But how could it have been a fantasy? It had been
real, appallingly real.
The black bulk of Rosewood Hall appeared out of the
maze’s shadow. She never had been so grateful to see a
house. She slowed to a rapid walk, her breath puffing
loudly. Her right knee hurt more on each limping step.
She began to button her dress, a formidable task because
her fingers trembled so violently she could barely grasp
each small button.
Once she told Simon what she had seen and heard, he
would send for the constable. The man with the snakevoice
would be punished. Then—only then—could she
feel safe again.
Long fingers closed around her neck. She screamed
and pulled away. Her arm was seized as it had been in the
woods. She screamed as she was whirled about by a
strange, half-human being. The body belonged to a man,
yet its head was an odd shape she could not see well in the
dark. But she saw enough to know it was not human.
Victorious laughter grated in her ears. “The hunter
finds its prey,” came the horrible voice.
“No!” she shrieked. Terror gave her the strength to
break his hold on her arm. She pulled off her torn cloak
and threw it over his head. Then she ran toward sanctuary
of Rosewood Hall.
Behind her, she heard a snarled curse and harsh
breathing as the creature chased after her. Her frantic
heartbeat filled her ears. Her right slipper flew off. She
did not slow. Wincing when she stepped on a sharp pebble,
she hoped she could run all the way to Rosewood Hall
before the beast caught her. She cut a twisting path through
the rose beds, and the thorns snagged at her gown. Tearing
the satin away, she did not care if she left bits of cloth in
her wake.
She ran up the steps to the upper terrace and across it.
She grasped the knob of the French door opening into the
library. Throwing it open, she rushed inside. She struck
someone and screamed as long fingers grasped her arms.
Had the creature gotten into Rosewood Hall?
“What in the blazes—?”
Darcy’s head snapped up. The single lamp burning in
the library glistened off silver-white hair. Hastings!
A door crashed against a wall, and she heard shouts.
Simon! She was not sure if she shouted that aloud or only
in her mind.
He whirled her out of his father’s grasp, but she pulled
away from him and ran back to the glass door. She looked
out across the garden. It was empty. Where was the
creature?
“Darcy, was that your scream?”
At Simon’s question, Darcy threw her arms around
his shoulders and pressed her face to his shoulder, not
caring if her outrageous actions could cost her this position
and any future ones. She needed to be held by someone
who was wholly human.
“Put your arms around me,” she whispered. “Please.”
They curved around her. She realized how hard she
was quivering when his arms were still, steel bars against
her back.
“Darcy, what’s wrong?” he asked more softly.
“It was horrible.”
“What?” He drew her back a step and frowned. “What
happened to you?”
She looked down as he did to see the rips in the ruffles
along her skirt. Dirt and leaves stained the front. The toes
on her right foot were visible through her torn stocking.
Her left slipper was wet and filthy.
Simon lifted one arm off his shoulder and stared at
the swollen red streaks where the rope had cut into her
wrists. Tilting her hand, he ran his finger along her
bloodstained one. “Is this blood?”
“Blood?” choked his father.
Looking at the older man, Darcy saw that the footman
she had taken with her into the garden stood next to him.
Quietly, she said, “Yes.”
“Where did it come from?”
She started to reply but gasped when renewed pain
sliced through her right knee.
Simon lifted her into his arms. “Father, I think Darcy
should rest after what appears to be a harrowing
adventure.”
“Take her up to her room.” Hastings’ face creased into
a smile, and she could not hide her shock that he could
find anything at all amusing about this. “I shall ring for
Mrs. Pollock to join you.”
“Excellent.”
Darcy added, “Thank you.”
“At least you didn’t lose your pendant,” Hastings said,
lifting the golden rectangle.
With a gasp, she looked down at her gaping dress.
She had forgotten to finish rebuttoning it when she thought
she was safe in the garden. Stuffing the Thoth pendant
back beneath her open collar, she held her dress closed.
Simon said nothing, and she could not guess what he
was thinking. Although his body was rigid with tension,
she again rested her head on his shoulder while he carried
her to her rooms. She spoke only when he headed directly
to her bedroom.
“Simon, I think it would be best if you put me on the
settee in my sitting room.”
Doing so, he closed the door. She stared at what he
was wearing. His open-necked shirt was tucked into black
riding breeches, a very enticing sight, but she stared at his
boots. They were soaked. Not from her gown, because
she could see where the hem had swept drops off his boots.
Then she looked at his hands. The day of her arrival,
she had noticed his long, artistic fingers. Were they as long
as the creature’s? She was no longer sure what she had
seen in the dark wood.
“Did you go outside, too?” she asked cautiously.
“Outside?” He glanced down at his boots, then sat
beside her. “Yes, I did go outside. When a footman came
to me all upset that you’d asked him to check something
by the woods, I went out to see if you were on the terrace
and then searched the upper garden. When I saw a lamp
lit up here in your room, I guessed you had returned
already.”
“A lamp in my room?” She grimaced as she sat
straighter. “I always leave a lamp on here. Did you see
anything interesting when you were outside?”
>
He frowned. “Why are you interrogating me? Do you
hope to divert me so I won’t remember you haven’t
answered my questions about what has happened to you?”
He grasped her hand and held it up so the bloodstains were
in front of her eyes. “About this?”
Darcy wanted to share with him every bit of the horror
that had surrounded her and to beg him to find a way to
keep that thing away from her. But, if he knew about the
creature already . . . Could he be part of that cult chanting
beneath the moon before leaving the cat’s corpse in the
wood?
“I fear I jabbed myself on the roses when I went past
them,” she said, cradling her bloodied hand in her other
one. She had not guessed lying could become so easy. If
she had learned to avoid the truth while at Miss Mumsey’s
and Kincaid Fells, she would have had an easier time.
“You should be more careful. Wandering about at night
can be very dangerous.”
“I found that out.” She bit her lower lip, wanting to
ask him to assure her he had not been part of the madness.
“It seems you were more careful during your walk.”
“I know these gardens well.” His frown did not lessen.
“Why did you have a footman checking something by the
woods?”
“The lights were near there.”
“Darcy, will you stop with that nonsense? It—”
The door opened, and Mrs. Pollock bustled in. Her
eyes widened when she saw Darcy’s dishevelment. “Miss
Kincaid, what happened to you?”
“She was out in the woods,” Simon replied sharply
before she could answer.
“Tonight?” The housekeeper’s face became as ashen
as the footman’s when Darcy had asked him to help her.
“You went into the woods tonight?”
“Chasing mysterious lights.” He grumbled something
more under his breath, then added, “Mrs. Pollock, she
seems to have hurt her leg. Please tend to it right away.”
“Yes, of course.” She gulped on each word as if she
found it difficult to swallow. “If you’ll excuse us, sir, I
shall tend to her.”
He reached for the doorknob, but paused when Darcy
said, “Don’t leave, Simon.”
“Mrs. Pollock must tend to your leg.”
“If you’ll be a gentleman and not watch . . .”
“You ask much of a man.” He walked to where she
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