by Lynn Red
As always, even though she pumped her legs as fast as she could carry them, the dream changed before she could ever reach her parents, the landscape melting from summery outdoors to pitch-blackness inside the monstrous manor. Shouts and sobs and death screams tore through the air, along with the battle cries of maddened men. Blood sprayed across the stone walls and carpeting, and she stood in the hall, cowering behind a corner, hoping that no one would find her.
She heard footsteps shuffling; trembling so fiercely she was surprised the wall wasn’t shaking with the force of it. Torchlight illuminated the hall, and she saw the long shadow of a man. He came around the corner, and she gasped in astonishment. This was not the rebel she dreamed about—the one with blood flecked cheeks carrying an axe, who always swung it toward her head right before she woke up. This man was tall and muscular, with shaggy dark hair that nearly reached his shoulders and a day’s growth of beard on his swarthy face.
As he turned to face her, yellow eyes gleamed out of the darkness, a hunger in their depths that both chilled her and sent streaks of lightning through her blood. As she stared into them something shifted, her vision wavered, and then the head of a wolf loomed over her, long incisors bared as he stretched his maw and howled.
With a strangled scream, she jerked up, awake and in her own bed again. It took her some time due to the blood rushing in her ears to realize that the howl wasn’t a part of her dream. The sound of animals baying carried clear across the field and straight through her closed bedroom window.
Sighing, she wrapped her arms around herself to still her shivering body and lay back against the pillow. The howls continued long into the night, and she struggled to sleep.
Chapter Two
The next few days passed, and Clara quickly settled into country life, becoming familiar with the many farm chores that she now shared with Eve. She had asked her aunt once more about the howls she’d heard that first night, but Eve only shrugged, reminding Clara to stay away from the forest after dark. But the howl continued, and with each passing night Clara became convinced that it was more than just the cry of wolves. The howls were infused with a kind of emotion she’d never heard from animals—sometimes an overwhelming joy, others a crushing sadness, and yet others with a kind of fury that had the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. Each one tugged at her heart, building a longing within to find the true source of these sounds.
Sighing, she finished up her chores, then returned to the cottage, stomping her boots on the mat before coming inside.
“Ah, there you are, Clara.” Her aunt was at the stove, cooking up the morning meal. “Would you mind fetching some water from the well this morning?” She pointed to the wooden bucket sitting by the door.
“Not at all.” Clara picked up the bucket. “I’ll be right back.”
She stepped back out into the sunshine and went to the stone well sitting in the middle of the field. It took her three tries to get it onto the hook, and another two tries to fill it—she’d watched her aunt do it before, but seeing and doing were two different things.
“Having some trouble?”
Clara jumped, startled, the bucket falling from her hands. She bit back a curse as she heard the bucket clank against stone as it fell down the well, and turned to level a glare at the person who had interrupted her—and he took her breath away.
The stranger had the bluest eyes that Clara had ever seen, and when he took off his hat he revealed shaggy blond hair. His voice was low and raspy, but it was the sly smile that undid her – boyish and charming with a hint of something wicked.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Clara quickly looked away, her heart pounding in her chest. “My aunt... she asked me to get water... I’m not sure what to do.”
“It’s okay.” He waved her concern away as he brushed past her. “I’ll get it out for you.” Dangling the rope, he somehow managed to get the hook around the bucket handle, and hoisted it right up. He then fastened it properly, sent it back down, and filled it.
“Here you go.”
“Thank you.” She took it from him, her breath catching in her throat. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”
He grinned again, that cool sexy smile that played around the corners of his lips. “My name’s Lucas. Family owns the big farm just up the road.” He pointed past the wooden fencing about a hundred yards away to where a green and white farmhouse stood.
Clara smiled. “Yeah, I’ve seen it. It looks like your family is doing very well. That’s a beautiful farm.”
Shrugging, he turned back to her. “We do alright. So Ms. Woodward is your aunt, I take it?”
Clara nodded. “Yes. I’ve been living with her a few days now... my name is Clara.”
“I see.” He studied her for a moment. “Nice to meet you Clara. Your accent...are you one of the gentry?”
Clara’s back stiffened a little at the slight censure in his voice. “I was...before the rebels attacked our home and killed my parents.” She felt her throat tighten, and forced herself to look away. “It’s why I’m living out here in the country...with my aunt.”
His expression instantly softened, his eyes filling with sympathy. “I’m sorry...I didn’t mean to...” He reached out to touch her arm, but she lifted her chin and turned away from him even as she felt the heat of his fingers pressing down on her wrist.
“Of course you didn’t,” Clara replied, waving him off as if she hadn’t just shared the worst tragedy of her life with a total stranger. “It was nice meeting you, Lucas. I better get back to my aunt.” She walked away without a backward glance, wishing the lump in her throat would go away.
* * *
“It seems you’ve received a package, Clara,” her aunt announced early the next morning. Eve clutched a bouquet of lavender in her hand. “It came with a note,” she added, handing Clara a scrap of paper along with the flowers.
Clara carefully read the handwriting, a swarm of butterflies fluttering in her belly.
I hope these flowers will help convey both my regret to you and my deepest sympathies.
Sighing, Clara tucked the note into her skirt pocket, then found a vase for the flowers and set it on the table.
“Are you going to tell me who they’re from?”
Clara hesitated only a moment—what harm could it do? She quickly regaled to her aunt the specifics of her meeting Lucas at the well.
“Ah, yes, Lucas.” Her aunt surprised her by smiling. “The Rivers family come from good stock, but they have a chip on their shoulder as far as gentry are concerned. You mustn’t begrudge him his animosity, Clara. He has good reason for it.”
Clara swallowed a forkful of eggs. “And what might that be?” She feigned indifference in her tone, but in truth she was incredibly curious.
“One of his sisters was romanced by a young man, the son of an Earl. He got her with child, then broke her heart without a care before rushing off to marry a wealthy heiress from a highborn family.”
Clara lowered her eyes—she’d heard stories of that sort of thing happening all too often, and it was part of the reason why she’d never been able to look upon the majority of the men that ran in her social circles without disdain.
“That is a sad story,” she said after a moment.
“He sends her a small sum of money every month for the expenses of the child,” her aunt continued, “but her heart has never quite recovered from the betrayal. Of course it doesn’t help that the poor boy is the spitting image of his father. Amelia is about your age.” Clara lifted her head. “It’s entirely possible that she could benefit from some female companionship.”
Clara finished her breakfast, then pushed back her chair so she could take her plate away. “Perhaps.”
* * *
When she arrived at the well the next day, he was standing there, his shoulders propped up against the stone rim, his straw hat drawn down over his head. He lifted it, and she saw that quick flash of a seductive grin a
nd the twinkle in his bright blue eyes.
“I was beginning to think you would never come.” He pulled off his hat and pressed it against his chest. “I’m glad you proved me wrong.”
“I wasn’t aware we had a meeting,” Clara replied as she hooked the bucket onto the end of the rope. This time she got it right the first try, and lowered it without difficulty.
“Did you get the flowers that I sent?”
“I did. They are lovely.” She pulled the bucket back up, unhitched it from the hook, and then set it down in the grass. “Thank you. I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”
His mouth thinned momentarily, and then he smiled again, but some of the sparkle had left his eyes. “I really am sorry about your parents.”
There was a moment of awkward silence between them before Lucas looked up at her again, his gaze locked onto her face, that Cheshire at smile back at his lips.
“So how are you finding life out here in the country?”
Clara smiled. “Different.”
The grin was back, and he sketched her a mocking bow. “What? Are you not enjoying the simple life of chickens and cows?” he chuckled, and she laughed. “I know it’s not for everyone.”
Clara raised her brows. “Really? Is it that obvious?”
He laughed, picking up the heavy bucket. “Just a little.” He hoisted the bucket against his side, flashing her a warm smile. “Come on, I’ll carry this back for you.”
* * *
They continued to meet by the well every day, where they would talk about life, growing closer by the day. At the end of every conversation Lucas would walk her home, carrying the heavy bucket of water in his calloused hands. It turned out that he and Eve knew each other better than her aunt had let on—they spoke like old friends, and she discovered that before she came to live with Eve, Lucas would come over a few times a week to help out.
The more time she spent with him, the more her heart warmed. She had once believed, not too long ago, that she was destined for a life of solitude in the country, believing that because she was highborn she would have trouble connecting with country folk. But it seemed as though there was more of her mother in her than she ever realized because she felt more at home here than she ever had on any of her father’s estates, even when surrounded by luxury.
“Would you like to come and visit our farm?” Lucas asked one day, lips curving into a smile.
“Visit?” Clara wasn’t sure what to say. “You’d like me to meet your family?”
He grinned. “They aren’t going to bite, Clara. They’ve been curious to meet you.”
“You’ve been talking to your family about me?” she teased. “I’m not certain whether I should be flattered or worried.”
Pulling her into an embrace, he laughed. “Only good things, I swear.”
Clara shivered at his possessive touch, his eyes lingering on her face, caressing her with his gaze and she felt her body respond to the nearness of him.
“Okay,” she whispered, breathing in his masculine scent.
“Then let’s go.”
He held her hand tightly as they crossed the field and approached the large farmhouse. Up close it seemed even grander than it had from afar—it was certainly no mansion, but it had a sturdy cheer about it that no amount of luxury could duplicate.
Warm, honey oak flooring and furniture greeted her inside, gleaming in the morning light streaming in through the many windows. The walls were papered in cream patterned with yellow roses and tiny green leaves, and fresh flowers were set in baskets and vases on window sills, tables and other surfaces where they would be best displayed. Clara took a deep breath and smelled their florid scent, along with the warm, yeasty aroma of freshly baked bread.
Following the scent to the kitchen, she saw a woman standing at the counter with her dark hair tied back and a white apron covering her body, as she buttered a loaf of bread. Next to her was a young boy chattering away, his bright red hair sprouting up in tufts, a pair of suspenders barely managing to hold his trousers up against his small frame.
They both turned to look at her with identical blue eyes, the exact same shade as Lucas’s, and in a flash of awareness she realized that this must be Amelia and her son. Though the boy’s eyes were open with innocent curiosity, the mother’s were more assessing, suspicious even. Clara held her gaze evenly, studying the faint lines that had begun to mar her smooth skin and her too-white knuckles as she gripped the counter.
Lucas moved forward, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the room and picked up his nephew, swinging him into the air. The boy giggled, and the sound warmed Clara’s heart. “How are you these days, Jamie?” He propped the boy on her shoulders, and turned to face his sister. “Amelia, I’d like you to meet Clara.”
“Ah, yes, you’ve told us all about her.” Some of the suspicion left Amelia’s eyes as she came around the counter. She gave Clara a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, and Clara noticed that her posture was not quite relaxed. “You are Eve’s niece?”
Clara inclined her head. “I am. My aunt speaks highly of your brother, and your family. It’s very nice to meet you.”
They chatted for a time, and Clara found herself warming to Amelia—though quiet and reserved, she had an inner light and sweetness that seemed to beckon. She could see how a woman like her would’ve tempted a nobleman despite his common sense, though she still did not forgive the unknown man for his actions. If the experience had left bitter feelings toward her child, it showed neither in Amelia nor her son—Jamie was a bright and eager boy and seemed well loved.
She met the rest of Lucas’s family too—his father, mother and three brothers, one older, two younger. They all shared the same fair hair, blue eyes and sturdy bodies, and seemed to be a genuinely well-rounded family. Clara enjoyed being with them, and was reluctant to leave when Lucas announced it was past time to take her back. She allowed him to walk her home, though, not wanting to upset or anger her aunt by being late.
“My family really seems to like you,” he whispered.
“I quite liked them as well,” Clara admitted with a smile.
“You’re free to come by whenever you like,” Lucas told her as they stopped outside her aunt’s cottage.
“I might just do that.”
He picked up her hand and, never dropping his gaze, pressed a hot kiss to her delicate wrist. Pleasant warmth tingled through her. “I hope you do.”
He pulled her gently toward him and while her eyes went wide there was no protest, no hesitation.
“Lucas.” Her voice was breathy, barely a whisper.
He kissed her, lightly, brushing his lips across hers, his tongue sliding briefly across her lower lip. Without hesitation, she parted her lips, allowing him to claim her mouth. There was a moment where everything faded; it was just her and him, the feel of her hair in his hands, her lips warm against his, her tongue thrusting into his mouth. There was a pleasant tightening across the front of his jeans as he grew hard, a sense of familiar heat as arousal flashed through his body.
He pulled back and watched as she leaned toward him, wanting more, slowly opening her eyes when she realized it would not come tonight. She looked up at him, her desire written across her face, passion blazing in her darkened eyes.
“Good night, Clara.”
She watched him walk away, admiring his loose gait and muscled body until she heard Eve call her name.
“Coming!” she replied. Her voice was breathless, barely recognizable. She couldn’t want to see Lucas again, to explore the powerful hunger that now swirled in her belly, leaving her body hot and desperately aching for his touch.
Chapter Three
That night, she dreamed of death and darkness—the rebels were ransacking her house, breaking and looting her family’s precious belongings, slaughtering the staff so that the stench of blood and sweat hung heavy in the air. She could still hear the cackling and shouting from the rebels, but intermingled were the sound of wolf cries—long
, pained howls interspersed with snarls and angry growling. She groped blindly, wishing she could see what was happening, but darkness cloaked her, suffocating her until she could neither move nor breathe.
When she broke free of the dream she sat up sharply, gasping for the breath she’d been denied in her sleep. As before, she heard wolf cries—but this time they were angry and pained, as they’d been in her dream. Frustration and curiosity rose up in her—what was the connection between her and these wolves? Was it normal for them to weave themselves into her dreams with such conviction? Was it simply a reality intruding on her nightmares, or something more?
Sighing, she fell back onto her pillow. She didn’t know how, but somehow, some way, she was going to figure it out.
* * *
“I am going to lie down for a bit, Clara,” her aunt said one afternoon after they’d finished pulling vegetables from the garden. “You should take a bit of time for yourself to relax, if you like, or go next door and visit the Rivers’.”
Clara smiled. “I think I will, actually. It will be nice to see them again.”
She stepped outside into the warm, sunlit air. Crossing the field, she allowed the sweet smell of grass and flowers to relax her. She’d intended to make her way to Lucas’s, but found herself instead heading away from the Rivers farm and toward the forest instead. She wasn’t certain what she would find there, or whether or not it was wise to ignore her aunt’s warnings, but something about it always seemed to call to her, and today the pull was stronger than ever. Surely she was meant to go in there, to discover whatever secrets lurked beneath the branches?
It didn’t take her long to reach the forest, and she stopped for a minute just outside the reach of its shadow to study it. The trees stood tall and sturdy, strong and yet somehow peaceful at the same time, and other than the twitter of birds she could detect no wildlife. Was this really where the howls were coming from?
