Beauty and the Horseman's Head

by Holly Kelly

  “He’s alive,” Hope corrected. “Mr. Henry, I would like you to meet Conall.”

  Chapter 19

  Hope wrung her hands as Mr. Henry sat her down at the table. It appeared he had a lecture in store for her.

  “Your life is worth more than that of any elf,” Mr. Henry said.

  “This one’s a prince,” Hope said.

  “I don’t care if he’s king of the Elven court.”

  “That is his brother,” Hope said.

  Mr. Henry shook his head. “Like I said—"

  “I completely agree,” Conall said from the other side of the room. “Maybe now you’ll see reason.”

  Mr. Henry’s eyes darted over to him in surprise and then returned quickly back to her. “Do you have any idea what elves think of humans? We are varmints to them. Killin’ us is akin to squashing a spider to the likes of him.”

  Hope shook his head. “He’s not like them. And how do you know so much about this?”

  Mr. Henry pursed his lips and sighed. “Well, I guess there’s no point hiding the truth any longer. Not after all you’ve seen. I am what you call a tracker—retired, mind you. I used to work for something called The Order. It was my job to track down unsavory supernatural folks and . . .” he hesitated. “Kill ’em. I had a knack for sniffin’ ’em out. Though I must be losing my touch. You say Conall’s been here the entire time?”

  Hope nodded. “I found him under the floorboards.”

  “I knew there t’were evil afoot in this town, what with the people so terrified of the Headless Horseman. And then Agnes, bein’ a witch, she filled me in on everythin’.”

  Hope felt faint. “No,” she gasped.

  “Oh now, don’t look like that. She’s one of the good ones.”

  “I never even knew there were good witches—"

  “I told you there were,” Conall interrupted.

  Hope looked toward him and said, “Like I was saying. I never knew there were good witches until Conall told me. And there are good elves too.”

  “I know that,” Mr. Henry said. “We had an elf on our team that was a healer. She was as kind as they come. I am just saying there ain’t many of them.”

  “So wait a minute. Did you stay because of the trouble here?”

  “’Course I did. You think I would leave a woman as sweet as you when there’s so much evil afoot? I have to do one last job. To make sure you were safe. Though I haven’t had much luck so far.”

  “And what job is that?”

  “Kill the Headless creature, of course.”

  “But . . . you cannot! Conall needs his body.”

  “That abomination killed the other members of Agnes’s coven. She’s the last of ’em. The horseman got all the rest. Agnes knew why they were being targeted, but Mr. Crane was a surprise. She had no idea why he had to die. He was a simple school teacher. I tell you, I’ve had a heap of trouble keepin’ my eye on the two of you.”

  “But how do you know they’re all dead? Mr. Crane could still be alive. Couldn’t he have just run off? Perhaps this is just a witch matter.”

  “They found Mr. Crane’s body downstream. His head missin’.”

  “Really? When?”

  “Night before last.”

  “Why did it take so long for him to turn up?”

  “I could explain, but a delicate woman like yourself shouldn’t have to hear such things.”

  “But I—” Hope began.

  “Mr. Henry,” Conall said from across the room. “May I speak to you alone?”

  Mr. Henry frowned as his eyes darted to Conall. “Excuse me, Missy. I think the elf and I are overdue for a talk.”

  “But, but,” Hope stuttered. “Why can I not hear?” She looked over at Conall. “You are not planning something stupid, are you, Conall?”

  “No, Hope, I am not.”

  Mr. Henry strode over to Conall, tucked him under his arm, and walked out the door.

  Did they seriously just leave me? Hope knew exactly what they were going to talk about. That idiot Conall had been trying the play the martyr since her run-in with the witch. Well, they were not going to get away with it. And she was absolutely not going to let Mr. Henry kill Conall.

  If only she could get a hold of that necklace. She’d rip the chain right off Lavinia’s neck.

  A thought suddenly struck Hope. A realization. Excitement flooded her heart.

  Hope looked out the window, relieved to see there was still light outside. If she hurried, she could get away before they knew she was gone.

  She cracked open the front door and peeked out. Mr. Henry and Conall were nowhere to be seen. Hope grabbed her cloak, a cord of rope, her sewing kit, and slipped out the door.

  * * * * *

  Conall had awoken in the morning with a strange mixture of feelings. He was terrified for Hope’s safety. She’d been in danger. And he had been stupid enough to drain his power to satisfy his desire. Even now, he craved Hope’s touch. He could not forget the feel of her mouth against his, her body melding against him. Though it hadn’t been real, simply a magical illusion, it was seared into his mind. He desperately wanted to be reunited with his body for the express purpose of making love to Hope. He wanted nothing more than to drown in her. Bring her to the peak of pleasure and squeeze every whimper, every moan of ecstasy he could from her. Teach her what it meant to be worshiped by one such as he.

  But his desire was overshadowed by an even stronger emotion, one that surprised even himself—his determination to protect her at all costs.

  Now he was about to do something completely out of character. He looked up from the stump he sat on to meet Mr. Henry’s eyes.

  “I want to help you,” Conall said.

  “Help me do what?” Mr. Henry said, narrowing his eyes.

  “Destroy the witch. By doing that, the Headless Horseman will no longer be a problem, and Hope will be safe.”

  “If I kill Lavinia,” Mr. Henry said, “you’ll die.”

  “I am aware of that. But, like you said, Hope’s life is worth more than my own.”

  “She loves you,” Mr. Henry said simply. “She may not be ready to admit it, but it’s as plain as the nose on her face.”

  Conall closed his eyes, attempting to push back the pain and regret those words brought.

  “And you love her,” Mr. Henry said, surprise ringing in his voice.

  “There can be no future for us,” Conall said. “I cannot stay here. My brother may have banished me here for a time, but he would never let me remain here indefinitely. And you know why I cannot bring Hope home with me.”

  Mr. Henry nodded, resigned. “What do you want me to do?”

  * * * * *

  Hope rushed to get there before the light faded too much for her to see. Hurrying down the beaten path, she worried she wouldn’t be able to tell exactly where they’d run into Lavinia. If she could not figure it out, finding the jewel would be an impossible task. If only she’d realized what had happen immediately.

  It wasn’t a magical cord Lavinia had tried to stop her with. Her hand must have gotten caught in the chain from the necklace—the one that held the key to breaking the tie between Conall and his body. And she simply had to find it.

  Hope’s eyes landed on a scorch mark on the road. This is it! This is the place! She searched the ground around her, kicking up leaves and rocks, attempting to reveal where the ruby had fallen. Minutes later, a glimmer several yards away caught her eye. She rushed over and dropped to her knees.

  There it was. Its brilliance sparkled in the fading light.

  Hope snatched it up. It felt warm in her palm. She could practically feel the power emanating from it. Dropping it in her pouch, she jogged along the road, hoping beyond hope that the Headless Horseman was predictable. She had to work quickly. Who knew what kind of plans Conall and Mr. Henry were making?

  Hope raced along the road, desperate to arrive on time and terrified of doing so. Her mind raced to come up with a plan. She would face the He
adless Horseman and bring him back with her if it were the last thing she did. She pinned her hope on the talisman. It was the key. She was sure of it. Lavinia could control the horseman, and it had to be the talisman that allowed her to do so.

  Best case scenario, the horseman would willingly follow Hope back to the cabin. There she would sew Conall’s head back to his body—carefully, methodically, perfectly… and then she would smash the stone. Conall—being Elvin—would heal and be as good as new.

  Worst case scenario, she would tie the horseman up and drag him back. Yeah, she knew he was strong, and if his muscular physique were any indicator, insanely strong. And he was heavy. She just might have to tie him to a mule to complete the task.

  Regardless of the situation, she was an intelligent woman. She could figure it out.

  Hopefully.

  Hope’s heart stopped when she saw the horse’s red eyes. Oh, right. The monster horse. How could she have forgotten him?

  Looking up, the headless form of Conall towered above her. She struggled to take even breaths as she pulled the stone out of the pouch and held it up for the horseman to see. Though, how he would see it without a head, she had no idea. He stopped as soon as the ruby was raised. Perhaps he could.

  Attempting to muster some courage, she shouted, “Horseman? I need you to come with me.”

  He seemed to regard her as he sat still upon the horse’s back.

  She took her first tentative step back and the horse took a step forward. Another couple of steps, and he mirrored her action.

  This was working!

  She kept the stone held high as she turned and walked toward home. She felt the breath of the horse on the back of her neck as she made her way. Her heart pounded with each step.

  She looked up at a shout in the distance, and her chest clenched. It was Mr. Henry, raising his musket.

  “Run, Hope!” he shouted.

  She raised her hand and shouted, “Stop!” But her voice was drowned out by the sound of musket fire.

  Terrified that he might have injured Conall’s body, she spun around to assess his condition when she found herself lifted off her feet. A heartbeat later, her back pressed against him and his arm locked around her waist. The wind whipped her hair back as they galloped into the darkness. She heard Conall roaring in the distance, his voice filled with pain and regret. He must have been there with Henry, and he was terrified for her.

  Truth be told, she was a bit frightened herself as they raced down the old country road. But after she gathered her wits about her, she realized something. The Headless Horseman had protected her from a perceived threat. At least, it seemed he did. Why else snatch her up and carry her away? He even threw her onto the horse gently enough not to jar her.

  At that realization, her heart slowed from a sprint to a run. Conall’s arm was locked around her—as tight as an iron bar, but he wasn’t hurting her. Pressed up tight against him, she felt every movement, every rise and fall of his chest. She ventured a peek over her shoulder, and her eyes followed the line of his thick arm to his shoulder at eye level with her, reminding her how massive he was. Thankfully, Conall’s scent surrounded her, bringing her a measure of comfort at a time she might be inclined to panic.

  When the horse slowed further, she turned to see the silhouette of the old church against the starry sky. The horse entered the graveyard and meandered between tombstones. A heavy silence surrounded them. There were no sounds of crickets, owls, or other creatures that tended to venture out at night—only the ghostly howling of the wind.

  He passed by the church without pause and continued to the far end of the cemetery, toward the thicket. There did not seem to be a break in the foliage until they were nearly upon it. A gaping abyss opened up before them, and Hope was suddenly terrified. This was not what she wanted. The horseman was supposed to follow her home, not the other way around.The ground began to slope downward into a hidden ravine. The darkness deepened as the last of the moonlight was choked out by a rocky tunnel. The only light that remained was the light coming from the glowing eyes of the steed.

  The horse stopped. The horseman swung his leg over the horse’s rump as he dismounted and pulled her down to stand beside her.

  Hope stood, stunned, wondering what the headless horseman had in store for her. He stood before her as if regarding her. His hands lifted to her head and traced down her shoulders and to the front.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” she said, and pushed his groping hands away. He did not resist her as his hands dropped away. “You really need to learn what is appropriate and what is not. I don’t need another week of penitent pleading for forgiveness. I happen to be a proper lady.”

  The horse snorted as if he’d heard her and voiced his disagreement.

  Hope looked back to the headless man in front of her. “Do you understand anything I say?”

  He bent forward, just slightly, as if bowing to her.

  Hope pursed her lips as she regarded him. “Raise your hand.”

  At once his hand raised above his head.

  Hope’s eyes widened, and she gasped, “Merciful heavens. Stand on one foot.”

  Without hesitation, he did as she said. Hope shook her head in disbelief. “So you are to obey and protect me?”

  He wobbled a bit as he tried to bow, still on one foot and with his hand lingering in the air.

  “Oh, put your foot and hand down.”

  He did as she asked.

  “You won’t let anything hurt me?”

  Again, he bowed.

  “The bow must mean yes.”

  Another bow.

  “What if I try to hurt myself?”

  He did not bow but took a step toward her.

  Hope’s brows pressed together in confusion. As an experiment, she picked up a rock off the dirt floor and swung it toward her head. If she was wrong, she’d have a bump to show for it.

  His hand darted out faster than she could see and clamped down over her wrist.

  Perhaps there is a bit of Conall…

  Hope shook her head. No, it was the jewel that had him protecting her.

  Faint shouting came from the mouth of the cave. Distant but unmistakable. She attempted to run to the voices, but Conall’s hand stayed clamped down on her wrist, preventing her from moving.

  She turned to the horseman and whispered, “What if that is Conall and Mr. Henry? You need to let me go.” She expected him to obey her and let her go, but he did not. He stood with her locked in his grip. Then, to her surprise, he turned and strode toward the back of the cavern, dragging her along behind him.

  “What are you doing? You cannot just kidnap me and haul me off to your hidden cave! You are supposed to follow my commands!” She tried to break free of his grip as she said, “Let go!”

  Not only did not he obey her, he continued to walk for what seemed like a great distance. She stumbled once and found herself swept up in his arms, pressed against him. The familiar planes of his chest and tantalizing scent brought back memories of the kiss she and Conall had shared. As soon as she realized where her mind was going, she shouted, “No, no, no, you will let me go at once. Unhand me and put me down.”

  And then she was falling. What had she done? It was going to hurt when she hit the ground.

  Instead, softness cushioned her fall. She did not even get a chance to get her bearings before the horseman pushed her over and climbed down beside her.

  What was she lying in?

  She chanced a glance around, trying to see from under the hair that hung over her eyes. The little that she saw revealed a bed, hidden in the cave.

  The horseman’s arm clamped around her waist as he pulled her up against him, draped a knee over her leg, and settled down. Her sewing bag pressed against her back uncomfortably. At least she hadn’t lost it.

  But Conall was not close by. She had no clue as to how she would get him close to this headless behemoth plastered up against her.

  “Seriously? You I . . . we are not sleeping i
n the same bed!”

  She could feel every part of him that was pressed against her. She tried to slip out of his grip only to find it tighten. This was completely unacceptable!

  His hand brushed over her hair, removing it from her face. How did he know it was bothering her? He did not stop there. His fingers brushed over the planes of her face, studying her features. Then they moved down to the nape of her neck.

  She knew exactly where this was going to lead.

  She clamped down on his hand. “Stop touching me.” The hard edge of her voice left no room for argument.

  His hand pulled away and settled down over her waist. His breathing deepened, and she sensed he’d gone to sleep. She waited for what seemed an eternity before she attempted to extract herself from his arms, only to have him tighten around her again.

  A good while later, she tried again, and once again he thwarted her attempts to escape.

  Exasperated, she huffed, “Well, I am good and well stuck here. I hope you are happy. Conall will be furious with you, I will have you know. You remember him, don’t you? He’s your head, and he has a fondness for me. You don’t want to anger him. I am not so happy with you myself.”

  She continued. If she could not get away while he slept, then why should she care whether he slept at all? If he even could sleep.

  Finally, Hope was too tired to continue. Wrapped in strong arms and with a heavy thigh draped over her hip, she fell asleep.

  Chapter 20

  Lavinia settled into bed beside her husband—close enough to feel his warmth, but not close enough to touch. In the quiet of the night, she was more aware of the sinking feeling in her stomach. If only she’d gutted Hope when she got the chance. That stupid old man had the worst timing in the world. And there was something unsettling about how calmly he confronted her—as if he’d dealt with witches before. And then there was the matter of the knife. Where an old man would get a demon’s dagger, she had no idea.

  She should probably set the Headless Horseman on him and kill him before he could cause her any more trouble.

  She wondered briefly where her henchman was tonight. She shook her head. If she’d known how much trouble he’d be to control, she wouldn’t have chosen to spell him. No matter what she did, she could not get him to cease his nightly rides in search of his head. In addition to the coven she’d had him kill, he’d decapitated six men. Lavinia had to clean up the mess each time—not to mention the struggle it took to get the bloody, battered head away from him. It was fortunate that the men from the town knew enough to avoid riding the road through Sleepy Hollow at night. Five of the six men were travelers passing through, and thusly they were not missed by anyone in town. Ichabod Crane was an unfortunate occurrence. And the fact that his body rose from his watery grave to be discovered spoke volumes of the state of his spirit. Lavinia herself had seen his ghostly figure roaming about near the covered bridge.