by Meara Platt
Saron nodded.
“Was it a wolf ?” She had never heard of one in these parts.
“No.”
She burrowed against Saron, instinctively seeking his protection, for there was something unnatural about the scene, something sinister that chilled her to the bone. The colors of their surroundings assaulted her senses, the intense green of the spring grass, the sparkling blue of the flowers and distant lake, the shocking crimson pool of blood. She held her breath, fearing to inhale the scent of death.
“Saron, I feel weak.” Along with the smell of decay was an unexpected and overpowering aroma of honey in the air. But not quite as sweet, for there was a sickly pungence to it. Surely, she was mistaken. She inhaled and began to grow dizzy. “What’s happening to me? Do you feel it, too? That putrid scent of blood and…honey.”
“Don’t breathe it in, little one. It’s poison to you.” In the next moment, he lifted her into his arms and hurriedly carried her back to the carriage. Once he’d settled her inside, he pinned her with a stern glower, as though to emphasize the order he was about to issue. “Stay here and keep the door firmly shut.”
“What are you going to do? Bury the lamb?”
Anabelle saw the signs of his mounting rage, but also noticed something deeper and far more frightening. His eyes were a thunderous shade of gray, but it was their wildness that caused her to shiver. In that moment, he resembled a creature capable of ripping her apart just as that innocent lamb had been ripped apart and killed.
No. He was a duke of the realm, not a beast of the forest.
Something intensely frightening was stirring within him and suddenly, his gaze locked onto an animal moving in the distance.
“Saron, what is it?”
“Do as I say. Stay right here, no matter what you hear.”
An image of the Draloch dragon came to mind again, dark, angry, and determined to kill.
Should she be afraid of Saron? Or afraid for him?
He dug into the folds of his cloak, removed a silver pistol, and firmly set it in her hand. “Don’t hesitate to use it.”
He gave her no time to protest before shutting the carriage door behind him and taking off at a run. She waited until he was out of view before scrambling after him. Not that she meant to catch up to him. She didn’t, for there was such a predatory look in his eyes, she meant to keep well out of his way.
He’d given her the pistol. She would use it if she had to, even if it was against him.
She hadn’t gone far before she heard a rustling in the nearby underbrush.
She stopped.
“Saron?” Her heart shot into her throat.
The rustling happened again, this time accompanied by a chorus of low, ominous growls that mingled with the bitter wind whistling through the leaves.
She started to back away.
But she was too late. All of a sudden, she heard the sharp crack of branches and something hideous leaped at her. She screamed and fell backward, the breath knocked out of her as she landed flat on her back against the hard, frosted grass. The brown bark of overhead branches mingled with blue patches of sky and the green of towering pines along the lake’s shore.
She fired off a shot. Her only shot.
It missed the beast, but the loud burst had the desired effect and it skittered away.
Her reprieve was only momentary, for the air suddenly filled with more feral growls, victorious cries as the beasts, now marking her as easy prey, splayed their long, sharp claws and opened their mouths to reveal sharp teeth that were now about to sink into her flesh.
These beasts never got the chance, for Saron appeared out of nowhere, his body an impenetrable barrier between her and those dangerously sharp teeth. No, not Saron, but the man attired in black leather who resembled him. He smashed several beasts with his ax.
Anabelle closed her eyes and screamed as blood splattered everywhere.
When she opened her eyes, both man and beasts were gone. Where were they? How did they all disappear into thin air?
Did she strike her head and was now unconscious and dreaming?
She heard more low growls and felt the icy bite of the wind against her cheeks. Was there another pack of creatures prowling close by? How many were lurking in these lakeside woods? Was she dreaming?
“Damn it, Anabelle. What are you doing here? Run!” Saron ordered as this new pack attacked. He smashed his fist into the first creature’s jaw, but only stunned it.
In the next moment, it turned and lunged at Saron, slashing at him with its claws. Saron punched it again, causing the beast to howl as it limped away.
Three more quickly took its place and began to circle Saron.
Anabelle grabbed a sturdy branch, intending to come to his aid when those devils suddenly turned and ran off.
She stared at Saron, unable to speak or breathe while she tried to understand what had just happened.
Where was the mysterious stranger who could be mistaken for his twin?
“Anabelle, are you hurt?” Saron sounded quite alarmed as he bent to recover the useless pistol from the underbrush where she had dropped it. He took the branch from her shaking hands with gentle care and tossed it to the ground beside them.
“What were those things?” Her heart continued to beat wildly and was now pounding through her ears with the force of a war drum. “I’ve never seen the like.” Indeed, a frightening mix of…what? They weren’t wolves, for they were able to stand on their hind feet, tall as a man, but not of man. Had she imagined their green skin and powerfully shaped hind legs that allowed them to leap like frogs?
She shook her head once more to clear her thoughts, for her fear must have left her dazed and disoriented. Such creatures did not exist, certainly not in the quiet Lake District.
“Did any of them scratch you?” Saron’s gaze was intently focused on her face, the only exposed part of her body.
“No, they didn’t touch me. That man saved me. Then you came along and finished the job. But the creature slashed you. How badly did he hurt you, Saron?”
“Never mind about me.” He kept hold of her still trembling hand. “Watch out for that rancid trail of ooze amid the underbrush. What man?”
Anabelle studied his face, noting the tension in the tight line of his lips. “I saw him beside my bluebell garden yesterday. He appeared out of the mist and was gone just as quickly, but…”
“But what?”
“He resembled you.” She shook her head and laughed mirthlessly. “It isn’t possible. There aren’t two of you, are there?”
His expression hardened so that his face appeared to be made out of stone. “No.”
She sighed. “I’m relieved. I don’t think I can fight off two of you.” She turned to look across the deceptively tranquil lake waters. “There’s a thin mist hovering over the lake. Do you think those creatures disappeared into its icy depths?”
Her breaths were still coming in gasps and a cold vapor sprang from her lips as she spoke. She glanced around, still saw nothing, and paused to listen for sounds that were out of place. Nothing, not even the crack of twigs snapping in the underbrush. Nothing but the gentle lap of water along the shore. “Saron?”
“I don’t know.” He followed her gaze across the lake before returning his attention to her.
Her heart continued to beat wildly. She’d disobeyed his instructions with potentially disastrous consequences. If not for his timely intervention and that of the stranger, she would have been killed. “I’m so sorry.”
It didn’t seem enough, for she owed him so much more than a simple apology for her act of disobedience that might have gotten both of them killed.
“Sorry?” He stared at her with a seething intensity that sent a shiver through her. “That attack wasn’t your fault. I’ll take you back to the carriage. This time, stay put.”
She nodded and walked beside him, remaining silent for the short distance. Saron lifted her into the carriage but did not climb in after her. He
muttered some words to his coachman and then disappeared once again into the patch of woods where they’d found the dead lamb. “I’m to take ye home, m’lady,” the driver said and snapped the reins.
The carriage jerked forward with a start.
If the man had heard unearthly shrieks filling the air earlier, he made no mention of it. Perhaps he’d seen and heard of such things before, for he was Saron’s driver and seemed to be a trusted retainer.
Also, he’d sounded concerned for his master, but not particularly alarmed.
Anabelle’s hands continued to shake as she leaned her stiff back against the firm leather squabs. “Saron, be safe,” she murmured, knowing she would never forgive herself if he came to harm. She had been the one to leave the safety of the roadway, to find the lamb and disobey Saron’s warning.
She didn’t like that Saron was now tracking the creatures on his own. What if they were still lurking? And what of the odd stranger? He had protected her, but would he harm Saron?
Saron knew how to defend himself.
He was a man to be feared.
Nonetheless, Anabelle could not stop worrying. Instead of retiring to her chamber when she arrived home, she remained downstairs and paced across the entry hall while awaiting Saron’s return. “Thank goodness,” she cried when he finally strode in not half an hour later. She wanted to throw her arms around him and ask him a thousand questions, but one glance at him and the words caught in her throat.
There was a dangerous, feral gleam in his eyes and his hands were bloodied.
“Here.” She slipped her handkerchief from where it was tucked in the sleeve of her gown and held it out to him with shaking hands.
He accepted it without protest, staring at her while he silently wiped the blood off his palms and fingers. Whose blood? His? Or that of the creatures? Or that of the poor, dead lamb? “Saron…”
His eyes were silvery dark and fiery. “Don’t ask me questions, Anabelle.”
“Not even one?” She knew he was not a man to cross, but nothing like this had ever happened to her before. And what about the unsuspecting villagers? Those creatures were a danger to them. They had to be warned.
He closed his eyes.
Though his eyes remained closed, she felt the ripples of anger still radiating from his body in powerful waves. In the next moment, he took her into his arms and hugged her tightly. “Damn it, little one. I’m glad you’re safe.”
On impulse, she threw her arms around him and hugged him back. “You as well. I was so afraid for you.”
He rubbed his knuckles lightly across her cheek. “I was never in any danger.”
“But those creatures…”
“They’re gone now. For good.”
She hoped so, but wasn’t as certain as he appeared to be. Nevertheless, she did not contradict him. She felt safer for having him beside her.
Even though she sensed that he and those creatures were somehow connected.
*
Anabelle was quite spent by nightfall and glad when Saron finally left for the Chalmers manor. One of the creatures had slashed his forearm, leaving a bloody gash from wrist to elbow, but Saron had not allowed her to tend him. To her frustration, she could do nothing but watch helplessly as he cleaned and bound his own forearm. Her heart was twisted in knots and her entire body ached for this man who was supposed to be her enemy.
Yes, he was her enemy.
The valor he’d shown today could not change that fact.
She and Dolly took extra care to close up the house, and once all was secure, she retired to her chamber, undressed, and dove straight into bed. However, she slept fitfully. Her dreams were of the bloodied lamb and the stranger. Most of all, her dreams were filled with Saron, and although it had been hours since he’d touched her, she could still feel the warmth of his hands on her body.
He had strong hands, able to launch deadly blows to deflect the rabid, charging animals. But he’d been gentle with her even though she’d defied him.
A tingling ache spread through her body, an ache to have him touch her, hold her, a need to feel his mouth pressed against hers in hot, hungry yearning. She drew the covers over her shoulders and buried her head under her pillow, desperate to block him out of her dreams.
She failed miserably.
He overwhelmed her thoughts, shocking thoughts of her sharing his bed and of him putting his arms around her and drawing her close so that she nestled against his chest.
Foolish dream.
She’d been frightened and he’d come to her rescue. That’s all.
Yet, her dreams and the sensations they roused were alarmingly real. She could almost taste Saron’s mouth on hers, slanting across her slightly parted lips. Suddenly her dream changed and he was no longer Saron but something darker and more frightening.
She tried to wake up, but couldn’t.
“Don’t struggle, Anabelle,” he said in a deep, rumbling murmur, changing back into the form of a man as he settled atop her, his body hot and straining. He pressed her into the mattress and lowered his lips to hers.
The mere touch of his lips roused a wildness in her. Was he casting a spell to steal her heart? Would he steal her soul before this dream was over?
She finally awoke with a start, her heart pounding and skin hot. His sandalwood scent was on her. With shaking hands, she lit the candle by her bedside, needing the soft light to chase away the night’s dark shadows. But those shadows wouldn’t go away. He wouldn’t leave her thoughts.
Having managed on too little rest, Anabelle raced downstairs the following morning and tore into the parlor. Dolly struggled to keep up with her. “Ye’ll break yer neck, missie!”
“I don’t wish to keep the duke waiting. I’m late. Why didn’t you wake me?”
“Ye were tired and his high and mightiness ain’t here yet.”
“Not here? Where is he?”
Dolly stuck her nose into the air. “He didn’t deign to tell me.”
“Pardon me,” an elderly, refined voice called out from the entryway. They turned toward the sound.
Anabelle calmed and broke into a smile. “Ah, Masterson. I haven’t seen you about in days. Where have you been?”
“Here and there. I thought it best to keep a discreet eye on our visitor, on the chance he tried something untoward.”
“You dear man.” She regarded him tenderly. “You’re always so protective of me, but you see, you shouldn’t have worried. I survived my encounter with His Grace.” Barely.
“Don’t tell me what I should and should not do, young miss,” he said, completely overlooking the fact that she was his mistress and could tell him exactly what to do. “I’ve served your grandfather, your father, and now you, over the course of my sixty years. I think I know my business.” He spoke gruffly, but ruined the effect by smiling sentimentally. “Don’t forget your father’s last words to me, God rest his soul. He said, Masterson, you must look out for dear Anabelle, for I fear I’ve made a muddle of things.”
“He did mix things up for me,” she said somberly, “but I was as much to blame as he, failing to realize he’d grown to hate Harleigh because Mother had died here. If only I’d been more attentive, returned to London when he’d begged us to go. But I thought only of myself, insisting we remain here.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
“I should have. Now, I’m suffering the consequences of my obstinacy and his pent-up grief.” Indeed, such strange consequences. Not only of those creatures she and Saron had encountered, but of her wanton dreams. She had never ached for any man the way she ached for this dangerous duke, and shuddered to think what might have happened had he actually been beside her in bed.
Masterson sighed. “We must have faith that all will work out in the end, no matter how bleak things may appear.”
Deep within, she had retained hope until yesterday. Something about the savage death of the lamb had shaken her very soul. She wasn’t certain of anything now.
Saron ha
d been affected, as well. He’d tried to hide his turmoil, but his eyes—thunderous gray and not a hint of blue—gave him away.
“And now that His Grace has so abruptly taken himself off, I can get back to my regular duties as butler.”
“What do you mean, taken himself off?” Masterson had an exasperating way of delivering messages.
He drew forth a small white envelope and presented it to her.
“I see you’ve taken the liberty of perusing the letter,” she said dryly, grabbing it out of his hand. “Next time I shall hire a butler who can’t read. What do you think of that?”
Very little, she realized by his indignant snort.
“We servants are a snoopy lot, I’ll grant you, but our curiosity serves a purpose. How else are you landed gentry to gather news so rapidly?”
She ought to have been offended by his cockiness, but wasn’t. After all, servants did carry news faster and more accurately than any other method of communication. Besides, in her quiet existence she simply had nothing to hide.
The realization left her glum.
Her servants would find the Draloch dragon crest engraved on the envelope more interesting than the contents of the letter. And judging by Masterson’s casual manner, he had found nothing particularly shocking or unusual in the message.
Dismissing both he and Dolly, she waited until they were out of sight to open the letter. Once alone, she read it.
Dearest Anabelle,
Unexpected business forces me to cut short my visit. You are to remain at Harleigh until my return. Keep safe. Do not run off on your own. Arm your footmen and have them accompany you everywhere. In my absence, I entrust you with the management of Harleigh. Pray do not fail me, little one.
Yours,
Saron
Anabelle shook her head in disbelief and absently set the letter down upon her lap. Was this another one of his jests? She was to reside at Harleigh and manage the estate. He had given her everything she had asked for short of deeding Harleigh to her outright. But that couldn’t be. She picked up the letter and reread it. Dearest Anabelle, he had started. Why had he chosen to address her in that intimate manner?
