“And I might have been the difference between life and death. If I had been there, they might not have been overwhelmed.”
“You can’t know that. You can’t torture yourself with the thought that you might have made a difference. You took a greater risk by coming back here alone. How could you have known?”
“I should have guessed it was a trap. We’ve been tracking the pack for weeks now.”
Aslyn said nothing for several moments, wondering if she should voice her fears about Algar. But she knew, regardless of what suspicions it might provoke about her, she had to say something. “Do you think … Is it possible these wolves are … not just wolves?”
“It’s far more than a possibility.”
Aslyn pulled away and looked at him. “You think they’re all….”
“Werewolves? Yes.”
It was worse, then, even that she’d thought. She had considered it very likely that Algar was exactly what he claimed to be, and that he was leading the pack, adding human cunning to animals already cunning in their own right. She had wondered if his men knew, or suspected that he was leading them a merry chase, posing as soldier by day to foil all attempts to capture the pack. It had even occurred to her to wonder if some of his men might also be as he was, werewolves. She hadn’t considered that the men he led by day were the same pack he led by night. Small wonder Kale’s men had not stood a chance against them. “What will you do now?”
“I have the unpleasant task of telling their families. And then I must gather more men and find them--and put an end to them once and for all.”
Chapter Twelve
As little as Aslyn liked the idea that Kale had been appointed to the task, she knew that he was right. The killing must be stopped. Someone had to do it. She just wished it was someone other than Kale who must risk their life.
With some effort, she persuaded Kale to eat. He’d had nothing, she felt sure, since he’d left, nothing even to break his fast before he left. She coaxed him over to the table and sat with him, though her appetite was no better than his.
The urge was strong to tell him about the atmosphere within the village, but she quashed it. He had worries enough. He did not need to be concerned for her when his mind should be focused upon his task.
She only hoped the villagers would not take it into their heads to set fire to the cottage while they slept.
Tomorrow, at first light, Kale would leave to perform the unpleasant task of informing the families of the dead men about their loved ones.
She would leave as soon as he was gone.
For the first time since she had left her home, the idea of leaving brought with it a wealth of grief. She wanted, more than she had ever wanted anything in her life, to stay with Kale. She wished desperately that she might at least have had a few more days with him, but she was nothing if not practical. She had no choice but to go when the opportunity was there.
In any case, whatever her circumstances, even if she were not a werebeast, the villagers had convinced themselves that she was at the root of their problems. If she stayed, Kale would almost certainly stay, and she would be risking his life as well as her own.
There were no choices, except the choice of life over death.
When they had finished their meal, Aslyn drew Kale to the bed, kissing every inch of his skin she revealed as she undressed him. And when he had done the same for her, she made love to him with all her heart.
* * * *
When Kale rose before dawn and dressed, Aslyn pretended to sleep on undisturbed, although she’d wakened to full alertness the moment he stirred. It took more of an effort than she would ever have thought to lie still, to breathe slowly, shallowly as one deeply asleep. Her heart was hammering in her chest with a combination of nerves, fear and grief. More than anything, she wanted to ‘wake’, to coax him back into bed so that she could share her body with him once more … just one more time.
But once more would never be enough to quash the sense of loss that even now seemed as if it would suffocate her. She could not take his essence with her by doing so. It would not lessen her sorrow, and she doubted she could make love to him again without giving away the sense of desperation she felt.
She waited when he had gone, counting the minutes, listening for any sound that might warn her that he’d forgotten something and returned. In a little while she heard the sucking, clopping sound of a shod horse galloping through snow. The sound grew louder as he neared the cottage and then began to fade once more as he gained distance.
Aslyn sat up, pushed the covers away and moved the edge of the bed, dropping her face into her hands. Oh, for the luxury of lying in the bed, clutching his pillow and weeping till she could weep no more!
She shook the urge off and rose. Dressing quickly in the woolen gown Kale had brought her, she rolled the quilt and tied it, then looked around. In truth, there was little she needed to take and the less the better. She had no use for the beautiful gowns Kale had brought, though the temptation was great to take just one.
She dismissed it and moved to gather food into a small bundle, tying it at her waist as she did her bag of medicines. Donning her cloak, she slung the blanket roll over her shoulder and moved to the door of the cottage, easing it open no more than a crack so that she could look out. It was still dark out, though light had begun to filter through the darkness, lifting it sufficiently that she could see almost to the center of town.
The streets appeared deserted.
She slipped outside, closing the door firmly behind her and moved quietly to the edge of the road.
She needed a horse.
She could release it once she’d gained some distance and allow it to find its way home, but she had to cover as much distance as possible as quickly as possible if she was to have any chance of winning free of the place.
It was dangerous even to consider stealing one, and yet even more dangerous to try again to leave without one. She could not take a chance that Kale might decide to come by the cottage to check on her and discover her gone. She had to make certain, this time, that she was far away by the time he discovered her gone, too far for him to find her.
The livery was on the next road over. As loathe as she was to pass by the Halard’s cottage after what had transpired there the day before, she had little choice but to do so. Otherwise, she would have to follow the main road to the center of the village, cross over by way of the crossing road and back track—or worse, cut through a cottage yard and risk running into someone out to visit their necessary, or someone’s dog.
She crossed the road in front of the cottage, moving briskly, but as quietly as possible. Within moments, she’d reached the next road. After peering down it to make certain no one was about, she made the turn and focused upon the livery nearly halfway down the road, glancing neither right nor left until she neared the Halard’s cottage.
She could not resist looking as she neared it, however, and her heart nearly leapt from her chest as she did so.
The door was standing wide.
She stopped abruptly, staring hard at the dark opening. As she did, she saw the door was not open. It had been shattered. The oak panels lay in splinters just inside. She moved closer, certain her eyes must be playing tricks on her.
It was not, as she had more than half hoped, a trick of the uncertain light and shadows. The door had been shattered inward.
The pack had returned for Halard.
Aslyn broke into a run. There was little doubt in her mind that the entire family had been slaughtered, and none that the village would become a raging mob the moment someone discovered the attack. They would be coming for her.
She slowed as she neared the paddock of the livery, knowing she might spook the horses if she rushed them. Only two stood in the paddock behind the livery. Stopping only long enough to still her pounding heart and slow her breathing, Aslyn moved slowly to the paddock, speaking softly, coaxingly. The horses lifted their heads the moment she came within view, snorted
, stamped the ground.
It took far more patience to coax the nervous beasts than she felt like allowing them, but she had no choice. Finally, she managed to get hold of one, slipped her blanket roll around its neck and leapt onto its back. There was no time to gather saddle and tack, and she had no desire to run additional risk by going into the stable.
For all that, she was not accustomed to riding bareback, had never tried it before and wondered for several moments if she would even be able to stay on animal’s back. In truth, she had not ridden in so many years that she was no longer accustomed to riding at all.
Finally, she managed to guide the horse to the gate and open it. She made no attempt to stop the other horse from slipping out as she rode out. With any luck at all, it would lead anyone who tried to follow her in a different direction entirely. Grasping the blanket roll tightly, she nudged the horse with her knees until she had it pointed in the direction in which she wished to go and gave him his head. In truth, she had no destination in mind. She simply wanted to travel in the opposite direction from which Kale had gone.
She had managed to reach the edge of the village when the first hue and cry went up. She had no idea whether it was due to her theft of the horse, or if someone had discovered the Halard family massacre. She pulled the horse to a stop when she reached the edge of the forest, turning to look back. Smoke was wafting from the far end of town.
They had set her cottage ablaze. Either they thought she was still inside and had not yet discovered the missing horses, or it was out of pure malice.
She nudged the horse once more, allowing him to follow the road until the first rays of the rising sun touched the road before her, banishing all shadows. She urged him off the road then, into the forest, winding her way southward.
She had decided upon a destination. She was going home.
The horse began to tire before they had gone many miles. She allowed him to walk for a while, to rest and then urged him to move a little faster. For all that, the going was slow in the deep snow. She did not stop to rest the horse, or eat, when the weak winter sun rose to its zenith. She was hungry, and tempted by her stomach’s clamoring to try to eat while she rode, but a very little thought dissuaded her. It was all she could do to remain on the horse as it was. She had no desire to risk falling off only because she could not wait to eat.
When the sun slipped at last behind the tops of the trees on its downward path, Aslyn dismounted. She was stiff from riding so long and her legs gave out beneath her as she touched the ground.
It had been her intention to point the horse toward Krackensled and give him a sharp encouragement to find his way back. She didn’t get the chance. The moment she fell, the horse bolted. She watched his departure in some dudgeon, for she had not had the chance to retrieve her blanket roll from around the horse’s neck.
Apparently, the horse thought the bouncing roll was something attacking it, for it careened wildly through the trees, floundering in the snow several times in it’s panic to outrun whatever it was that had it by the neck.
“Fool!” Aslyn snapped, sorry now she hadn’t gotten the chance to whack it a few times with a tree branch.
There was no hope of retrieving the blanket roll. She could only hope the stupid beast managed to free itself of the thing before it was found. Otherwise they might track it back to her.
She was going to freeze without a blanket.
She sat, pulled the small bundle from her belt that held her food and ate enough to quiet her stomach’s protests and then bundled the remains once more and set out. The days were short. She had a couple of hours, perhaps as much as three, to find shelter for the night.
She didn’t waste time trying to cover her tracks. She could not spare it, and, in any case, she had decided to go home. She could not afford to change directions several times to throw off pursuit. She had to make her way to the coast and cross the channel as quickly as possible.
Once she crossed into Norandy, she was fairly certain she would be safe from any and all pursuit. Until then she risked death at any turn.
There were many times during the trek that she cursed Algar, and even more times that she cursed the fates. If she had to be a werewolf, why could she not have the same ability as Algar apparently had, to shift at will into a beast more capable of traveling through the snow?
It was a waste of energy. She was as she was. She could not change it, however much she wished she could.
As she fought her way through drifts of snow, tangles of leafless briars, and staggered up rises and slipped down dales, she wondered what sort of reception she might expect when she returned home.
Would her father be glad to see her, alive and apparently well? Or would he send her away? Would he slay her when he discovered what she’d become?
She would have to tell him, whatever the outcome, else she would be a danger to everyone she cared for when the full moon rose and she was taken by her beast. Dismal as the prospect was of being locked in the castle dungeon during those times, it would have to be done. She could not trust herself. She certainly could not expect her father to trust her.
It was almost dusk when she came upon an abandoned cottage. A sense of hope, relief and nervousness assailed her when she first spotted it, but she realized quickly enough that no smoke rose from its crooked chimney and no smoke meant no one would be inside, waiting to attack her.
Still, she approached it cautiously, stopping to listen every few feet, checking the cottage and the area around it. When she finally reached the door and peered inside, she saw that the cottage had evidently been abandoned for quite some time. Much of the thatch had rotted and fallen in, aided by the weight of the snow. The door had also fallen in. The interior of the cottage was bare of anything save snow, dusty cobwebs and rotting poles and thatch.
It would not make much of a shelter, either against the elements, or the wolves if they had tracked her, but it was all there was.
With an effort, she stood the door upright and propped it against the door frame. She stared at the hearth doubtfully for some moments, wondering if the chimney would even pull, wondering if she could build a fire in it without catching the roof on fire, and if she even dared risk it when she knew she was being hunted, but she finally decided she would need to take the chance of building a fire if she was to survive the night.
It was full dark by the time she managed to find enough branches to build a modest fire. By the fire’s feeble light, she cleared the debris inside the cottage far enough from the hearth that it would be less likely to catch fire. An almost constant breeze wafted through the tiny building, finding its way through every crack, but it was tiny puffs, not gusts. The dirt floor was free of snow near the hearth, and dry. She curled up as close to the fire as she dared and warmed her hands until the stiffness left her fingers, then opened her pack of food and ate a small portion.
She was very nearly as miserable inside the ramshackle cottage as she had been trudging through the snow, but a full stomach, enough warmth to thaw her somewhat and exhaustion combined to make her eyes drift shut almost the moment she curled up beside the hearth.
She wasn’t certain how long she slept, but the howl of wolves woke her.
Chapter Thirteen
The sound was distant, indistinct. At any other time, her exhaustion would have deafened her to so slight a sound, but she’d been subconsciously listening for sounds of pursuit since she had left Krackensled. She was instantly wide awake, looking around uncertainly, wondering what had wakened her.
It came again, a mournful cry taken up by many throats.
Baying.
They had caught her scent.
Aslyn leapt to her feet, looking around her. There was nothing to use for a weapon, of course, beyond the branches she’d dragged in to make a fire.
She had not thought, when she had stopped, beyond the immediate need to find shelter from the weather for the night. The cottage offered little enough of that. It offered no security. She would
be no better off inside the cottage than outside if the pack caught up to her. In fact, far worse off, because she would be trapped, with no place to run.
The door was barely standing on its own. There was no way to barricade it, nothing to use to fortify it.
Pulling the door away from the opening, Aslyn moved outside, stood in the clearing surrounding the cottage and listened. When the sound came again, she turned slowly, finally determining that the sounds were coming from the north west, she began to trot southward, hoping to conserve energy while still maintaining enough speed to stay ahead of the pack.
The area was unfamiliar to her. If she’d been a few miles further west of her position, she might have seen landmarks she recognized. She might have remembered something that might help her.
As it was, she could only strain to see through the darkened landscape, searching for some place she might hide and escape their notice, a burrow, or cave large enough to conceal her, but still small enough she might have some hope of barricading the opening to protect herself from attack.
She saw nothing. It seemed she ran for miles, and all the while the sounds behind her became louder as the pack closed in upon her. In desperation, she began to look up at the trees as she approached them. Being treed was the last thing she wanted, but it began to seem it might be her only hope of escaping the wolves.
She was so busy looking up at the trees that she failed to see the chasm of darkness before her. When the earth suddenly dropped from beneath her feet, she hit the ground and began to roll, over and over. Striking a young sapling that almost cracked a rib, she came to a halt at last, but she was too dizzy to rise at once. When she finally managed to stagger to her feet, she discovered that she had rolled down onto a frozen stream.
It was wide, but she had no idea how deep it might be. Near the center a narrow track remained unfrozen. Looking around, she finally found a long branch and made her way carefully to the rushing water, leading with the branch. The ice thinned to the point that it shattered under the branch before she got within a yard of the open water. She slipped when the branch broke through the ice and landed on the ice so hard it cracked under her.
Blood Moon Page 12
