Melanie ran a shaking hand through her short blonde hair.
So it must have been a real dog, she told herself with relief. Only a real dog responds to a whistle… doesn't it? For a moment she had been wondering if the hound was something else. Something like Conan Doyle's creation. Hadn't she read somewhere that he'd taken The Hound of the Baskervilles from west country folklore? The ghostly, demonic black hound that ran across the moors in the night, seeking…
"Seeking what?" Melanie muttered. "London solicitors traveling in Aston Martins on business to out-of-the-way places? It's probably someone's pet."
With her hands still shaking, she drove forward again, this time picking up speed. There was a sense of relief in leaving behind her the spot where she had seen the hound, and the woods didn't follow the lane for very long. They tapered off, and she was glad to see them go. Less atmospheric wilderness was just fine with her. Soon she was in open meadows, with only a stone wall continuing to keep her company on one side of the lane.
No houses, no lights. And no road signs. She'd have to turn back after all, Melanie told herself. The idea wasn't a comfortable one, it would mean returning to the spot she had just left. Even the thought of a good night's sleep and proper directions wasn't enough to raise any enthusiasm for that.
"Then I'll keep going. There must be something up ahead."
Clearly the caretaker at Ravenswood hadn't been up to the task of giving sound directions. Eddie, was that his name? He'd sounded about a hundred years old on the crackly phone line, as old as Miss Pengorren when she died in the London nursing home and left her personal affairs in the hands of Foyle, Haddock and Williams. Melanie, as their junior representative, was here to unravel those affairs.
Anyone else would have jumped at the chance for a week in Cornwall, but Melanie wasn't looking forward to it at all. Her life was just as she wanted it, and now she was being sent into unknown territory where anything might happen. How could she maintain her timetable? Well, she'd just have to try. And it was a brilliant opportunity to impress. From the day Melanie joined the prestigious firm she planned to make her future there. The traditional, slightly old-fashioned practice and unexciting clientele suited her perfectly. Nothing much happened, each day was similar to the next, no surprises—
A flicker of movement at the edge of her vision jolted her from her reverie. She turned to look, the horrible thought flashing through her mind that it was the black hound back again.
But no. It was a man. A man riding a horse beside her car. He was on the other side of the stone wall, in the field, and all the color had been leached out of him, as if he were drenched in moonlight. Except there was no moon; the night was particularly dark.
Shock made her cold as her eyes took in the details, while her brain floundered to make sense of them. The rider was bent low over his horse's neck and he wore a cloak that flew out behind him like wings, a tricorn hat and a mask covering half of his face. As Melanie stared he gave her a quick sideways glance and kicked his heels into his horse's sides. It was almost as if he were enjoying himself. As if they were having a race.
The car shuddered and Melanie swiveled, fixing her eyes unblinkingly on the road ahead. This couldn't be happening. First, the black hound like something from a horror movie, and now this.
She glanced at the man, hoping he was gone, and instead found he was almost level with her car. Something else caught her attention, and she realized it was the black hound. It was loping along behind the man and horse.
The whistle from the woods. It must have been…
this was its master… they were connected, the two of them.
Melanie moaned and did the only thing she could. She put her foot down hard on the accelerator. The motor roared, and she shot forward. She couldn't hear anything but the sound of the car, but she had a shaky feeling that there wasn't anything else to hear. No hooves striking the ground, no snap and flap of the rider's cloak, no breathing of man and beast. Nothing. Her companions were completely silent, as if they didn't really exist.
Incredibly, he was edging in front of her.
Panicking, she glanced at him again and realized he was looking back at her. His eyes through the slits in the mask were brilliant, warm, dangerous, and he grinned as if he were enjoying himself. Melanie found that her own heart was racing, but whether from sheer terror or a strange, unfamiliar excitement she didn't know. Whatever it was she felt incredibly alive.
The road was far too narrow and the surface too rough for her to be driving this fast, but recklessly Melanie accelerated again, speeding forward, trying to stay ahead of him.
The rider spurred his horse and, stooping even lower over its neck, prepared to give chase. A few strides and he was near her again, and then he was in front. She could see the back of his head beneath the tricorn hat and the ponytail he'd made of his dark hair. Beneath the cloak he was wearing an old-fashioned jacket and breeches. And then, with a final burst of strength and power, he outpaced her. He made it look breathtakingly easy instead of completely impossible.
She thought he'd ridden off then, leaving her behind, but instead she watched in horrified fascination as he eased up on the reins until he was level with her again. He looked directly into her eyes, and that's when he did it. Winked.
Melanie gasped.
His teeth flashed white. He lifted one gloved hand and blew her an extravagant kiss.
Melanie slammed on the brakes, but even as her instincts reacted, her brain was telling her the man and horse were already gone. The road was empty.
For the second time tonight she sat in silence, heart pounding, hands clenched on the wheel. She tried to see to where he had disappeared, peering into the darkness, but there was nothing. All about her was absolutely nothing.
He must have ridden across the field on the other side, she thought desperately. He must have escaped that way. But she knew he hadn't. One moment he'd been here, beside her, grinning into her eyes like a madman, and the next… he was gone.
Melanie started the car again, and as she did, she saw there was a signpost next to the bumper. The paint was fresh and new and easy to read, and it was pointing ahead.
RAVENSWOOD 2 MILES.
Immortal Warriors 01 - Return of the Highlander Page 28
